I Remember You Not Fondly
by Mistress of the Darkwood
Summary: When Methos' past becomes part of his present, the consequences could be deadly for those close to him. Uses the 'Mirror, Mirror' concept from Star Trek. Crossover with Forever Knight. Methos, MirrorMethos, Kronos, Silas, Duncan, LaCroix
1. Chapter 1

"I don't think you should touch it yet," Triona said with some concern as she glanced at the readings coming from the tricorder in her hand.

Methos drew back from the alien artifact. "Why not? You've pretty much established that whatever powered it is long since dead."

She chewed at her lower lip, scanning the ancient alien device one more time. "Maybe… probably," she amended. Looking back up, she shook her head. "It isn't entirely dead. I'm getting some very confusing readings. Almost negligible, but there."

"It's probably just residual radiation," he countered. "After all, it's over five-hundred-thousand years old. It would have absorbed a fair amount in that time." She nodded uncertainly as Methos continued, "The translation I did indicated this was nothing more than a device to record and archive this culture's history. A culture that's been dead for hundreds of thousands of years!"

Triona smiled a little at the enthusiasm in her husband's voice. Finding this planet had been his pet project for the last two decades, and he was so close to the end now. But it was her job to curb his enthusiasm with scientific caution. "And what if your translation was wrong?" she asked as gently as she could.

"Do you have reason to think it was?" he asked a little stiffly.

"No. No, of course not. I'm sorry, I guess my past experience with an ancient alien device just makes me a little paranoid. I'd really prefer to avoid a repeat performance!" Considering her last encounter had resulted in her reliving the life of a slave in Pompeii just before Vesuvius erupted, that was an understatement.

"Okay, point taken." Smiling, he came closer, leaning down to kiss her. "And I'm sorry for being so touchy."

Running a hand through his short hair, she kissed him back. "Apology accepted."

"Making up is one of my favourite things," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

"Uh huh." Scanner forgotten at her side, Triona slipped her hands under his shirt, pressing cool palms against the warmth of his back, leaning into his kiss as his hands tangled into her long hair. Sighing regretfully, she pulled away.

"What? You have something better to do?" he asked impishly, running his thumb across her lips.

"No, but you do." Pointing to the alien artifact, she said, "It'll be dawn in a few hours, which means I have to spend the day in the shelter of the shuttle. So if we want to do this today…?"

"Right!" Picking up her tricorder, he handed it to her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "One more scan, and then we see what we can discover from our silent friend over there."

Methos was practically rubbing his hands in anticipation, and despite herself, Triona found his enthusiasm infectious. "Fine, but if it blows up, I expect groveling for the next several centuries!"

"Deal!" he agreed. "But it won't, so I get to say 'I told you so' frequently."

Triona just laughed, walking around the shoulder high device, paying close attention to the readings from her tricorder. For a mysterious alien artifact, it didn't look like much. In fact, more than anything else, it reminded her of the modern art sculptures that had been so popular in the lobbies of office buildings in the latter part of the twentieth century on Earth. It resembled titanium formed into multiple triangles, fitted together like a puzzle. It seemed to absorb the light around them as opposed to reflecting it. And on its nearly black base of the same metal, was writing in the long lost language that Methos had spent the last twenty years translating.

The readings hadn't changed, and while she wasn't entirely happy with the result, she had no good reason, other than her own fear, not to continue. "I guess you get your wish," she told Methos. "I'll keep scanning as you work. But promise me that if I think something's not right, you'll get away from that thing if I ask?"

"Cross my heart." He grinned, doing just that.

"Doofus," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I heard that!"

"The truth hurts!" she shot back, amused.

"You," he pointed at her with one long finger, "are the most disrespectful wife I have ever had."

"Really? Is there some sort of prize?" She quirked one eyebrow, hand on her hip.

His eyes slowly and deliberately ran down her body and then back up again, and her heart skipped a beat. "I guess you'll find out later," he promised in a voice that was like cool syrup.

She took a slightly shaky breath. "If you keep this up, you can forget that damn thing till tonight," she said, making a promise of her own, waving her free hand at the artifact.

Smirking, he replied, "I'll make it up to you."

"You're damned right you will! Now stop distracting me with carnal thoughts and get on with it!"

"Getting on with it, ma'am!" was his cheeky reply. Once again, he approached the object, this time placing his left hand on the symbol at the top of the plinth, the other hand over a raised rectangle on the triangle to his left. According to his translation, that should open the device.

Triona eyed the readings intently. There was a small fluctuation, barely registered, but it was there. "Methos," she began. After that, it all happened so quickly, she only had time to scream his name before the flash point of the energy wave hit, throwing her against the sheer rock wall behind her. A moment of searing pain as bones broke on impact, then nothing as unconsciousness claimed her.

* * *

Greedily, Triona sucked air into her lungs. Hazily she recalled an explosion, hitting the cliff face, then nothing. _Must have killed me_, she thought absently. Then memory and pain came rushing back. Methos. The device. The energy wave. Groaning, she tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't work. Then the emptiness crashed over her; her blood bond with Methos was gone, and the shock of that realization competed with the pain that throbbed across ever nerve in her body. Where was he? She reached out with her mind, but she couldn't feel even a trace of his presence. No, there had to be an explanation! He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead.

All the ways an Immortal could permanently die in the 24th century flew across her thoughts, and the fear began to turn into panic. She was breathing too fast, her heart pummeling at her chest, the sound of it deafening to her own ears. _Think, think_, she ordered herself, striving for calm. The alien device had reactivated, but she hadn't been burned. So the explosion had been some sort of energy pulse; not anything that would have disintegrated human flesh. Methos would have survived, just like she had. The answer was there; she just had to heal enough to find it.

Finally, feeling had begun to come back to her legs in agonizing pulses, and she thought that just maybe, this time, she could get to her feet. Rolling over, she sat up, pushing back the dizziness and nausea that washed over her. _You can do this_, she told herself sternly. _He needs you_! One breath, then another, as she felt her body healing and along with it, control of her fear. A control that was shattered as the presence of another Immortal jangled across her senses. Was that why Methos had disappeared from her mental perception? No, no, no! Old nightmares threatened to overwhelm her and she fought back the dark memories they brought.

Without conscious thought, she reached for the phaser on her belt, crying in frustration as her fingers refused to cooperate. Then she heard footsteps in the gravel behind. She waited for the words she knew must come: "There can be only one". But there was only silence and a sharp pain that exploded against the back of her skull. Once more, she was dragged into the cold embrace of unconsciousness.

Consciousness drifted back slowly, like rain sliding down glass. No death this time, no straining for breath to feed starved lungs as memory and feeling scattered across perception before coalescing into something you could hold onto. Something to pull you from the darkness of death's greedy grasp. Bits of memory, like raindrops, fell with no order, her brain struggling to make sense of them all.

Triona was still alone. That memory was uppermost. Methos was gone. Where, she didn't know, but finding him overrode all other concerns. She moved a little closer to full awareness; on her side, gravel pressing into her face, her head throbbing as if a thousand hammers battered against her skull. At the edge of the part of her that was vampire, she could feel the sun's approach. Not dawn yet, but soon. So no more than a few hours had passed since the alien device had roared back to life.

Then, the presence of another Immortal assaulting her senses pulled the droplets of memory into a tidal wave that slammed into her, leaving her momentarily stunned. Struggling to sit up, she realized she was bound hand and foot, the ropes around her wrists and arms pulling her shoulders back painfully. Then rough hands were grabbing her arms, pulling her up, and she cried out despite herself at the pain.

"So, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes," a voice she would know anywhere said. A hand pushed her long hair from her eyes and she focused on the face of the man that crouched in front of her. Cold fingers of shock crawled up her spine. One hand slid around, tangling her hair into his fist, pulling sharply to force her head up to meet his eyes. "Where have you brought me to, witch?" Methos demanded.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell was that?" Methos muttered as his throat and stomach disentangled. He'd placed his hands on the artifact, surprised to feel warmth seeping up through the metal. Then he'd heard Triona scream his name. At the same moment, he felt like he'd hit the atmosphere without the anti-gravity field on. There had been a sensation of sound and pressure, then absolute silence.

Pulling his hands away, he took a deep breath. Okay, maybe he would be groveling for the next several centuries. The silence slowly slipped away, replaced with the ambient noise of the planet. That was when he realized that she was gone. The place in his subconscious where the blood link with his wife dwelt was empty, echoing in its barrenness. Even when Triona had suffered her breakdown, still she had been there, no matter how tenuous the connection. The suddenness of it all hit him hard, leaving him breathless. He brutally pushed away the little voice that told him she was dead. That it was his fault. His hidden fear that one day, he'd be responsible for her death, scratched at him like so many thorns.

The presence of another Immortal washed over him, and he all but froze, only his hand slipping to the dagger at his belt breaking his stance. But fate wasn't done hurling the unexpected into his path. The voice he heard behind him was one he'd consigned to nightmares centuries ago.

"It seems you were right, my love. Methos did get the translation wrong!" the voice said jovially. "Tell me, brother, how do you deal with finally being wrong? What a blow to your ego it must be!"

Those words were followed by decidedly unpleasant feminine laughter that ran across his nerves like nails down a chalkboard.

"I told you he was wrong!" a female voice -- her voice -- said angrily. "But did you listen? No, of course not! The all knowing Methos couldn't possibly be wrong!" Venom dripped from every word, centuries of hate soaking every syllable.

"Come, Triona, calm yourself. We are all family here. We can forgive mistakes, can we not?" The last held a note of warning.

A warning she seemed to take to heart, as she replied in a tight voice, "Yes, of course, Kronos. I'm sorry."

"There, you see? I'm sure Methos can forgive your ill temper in this case. Methos?"

Methos steeled himself for what could not be avoided any longer. Turning slowly, he took a deep calming breath. Then he said, "I was more wrong than you can possibly imagine."

* * *

Everything froze in that moment. It wasn't Methos, and yet it was undeniably him. She tried to process what was before her, tried to make sense of the utter wrongness of it all. His face, his voice, but nothing of I him /I before her. What had happened? Where was I her /I Methos? A sharp slap across her face interrupted her frenzied thoughts.

"I asked you a question! And you will answer!" he commanded in a voice that held none of the softness of her husband's and yet was familiar enough to twist at her heart.

"I didn't bring you here," she choked out. "That thing must have." She indicated the alien device with her chin.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her speculatively. "You must have done something," he accused.

"I didn't! I was scanning it, there was some sort of energy wave, and it threw me against the rock. I must have been unconscious for hours from the impact." Triona swallowed, trying to control her racing heart as she looked at him squarely.

His hair was longer, and he was dressed all in harsh outlines of dark leather and stiff fabric. Not at all like the comfortable and relaxed clothing that Methos preferred. But it was clothing now, not the past. The fabrics and accessories were undeniably that of the twenty-fourth century. So one theory was discarded; this wasn't some sort of time travel, not her Methos from somewhere in his past. That realization wasn't as comforting as it might have been. The alternative was more than unthinkable, and she swallowed again, her mind racing through possibilities, each more frightening than the last.

"Scanning. You didn't touch it?" She shook her head. "So you come here alone, to this planet, to what?" he demanded.

"I…" her voice shook. "I… it was something I've been researching. This planet, its dead civilization." Somehow she thought it would be better not to volunteer any information. Not to let him know he had a double. A double she prayed was still somewhere within reach. I Please God, let him be okay /I .

This time the blow that struck her face knocked her back down to the ground and she choked back a cry at the agony that blossomed anew across her mangled body. "Try again," he told her in a voice that chilled her to the bone. Something was thrown to the ground next to her and her heart sank, seeing her data pad. I Stupid, stupid/I she berated herself. I In the time you were unconscious, of course he looked though your belongings/I

Once more she was being dragged up, this time to her feet, blackness floating before her eyes as her damaged body, still trying to heal from its many wounds tried to compensate. He held her up with one arm, pointing down at her data pad with one long finger. "Tell me everything or I swear to you that you will regret even the air you breathe."

She shuddered at the menace in his voice, knowing without any doubt that it was no idle threat. Looking down at the device at her feet, she saw the picture on the screen was one taken just before this trip; a family photo of her, Methos, LaCroix, Lucia, and Stephanie. Briefly she closed her eyes, holding the memory of her family close to her heart. She had to be strong – for herself and for them.

"I'm waiting." This was said against her ear, his cool breath skimming across her face. It was all she could do not to shy away from his closeness. But even in her confused state, she knew that would be a mistake.

A shaky breath, and another. Then she said, "Methos had been translating the texts from this planet. We found the device and he thought it was a repository of knowledge and history."

"And you? What did you think?"

Still, he was too close to her and she held herself as still as possible. "I… I had doubts, but nothing quantifiable, only intuition. Nothing to make a reasoned decision from."

"So you let him activate the device." That was said almost like an accusation.

"No!" She shook her head. "Yes, I suppose. But it wasn't like he was trying to activate anything. We thought he was opening an archive. That's all!"

He took her chin in a hard grip, searching her eyes. Then, abruptly, he let her go and she fell to her knees with a painful thud. He whirled away, arms akimbo, pacing back and forth. The he was staring down at her again.

"And what is he to you?" He laughed harshly. "What am I I /I to you?"

"You aren't him!" she protested. "You aren't."

Speculatively he considered her for a moment, before replying, "Perhaps not, but I doubt we're that much different." Once more, he was crouching down to look her in the eyes. "Now, answer my question, woman! What is he to you?"

Laughing with more than a touch of hysteria, she fought back tears. "What is he to me? He's everything to me! He's my husband, and I want him back!"

His laughter shattered the relative quiet. "Husband! Now that I was not expecting!" Sinking to one knee, he brushed her hair back from her face. "There's no rush, Triona." Her eyes widened in shock. "Oh yes, I know you very well. Or at least, I know your doppelgänger. I know her very well indeed." His hand stilled against her cheek. "And I am sure you and I, we will get to know one another quite well too."


	3. Chapter 3

Methos had no idea what had happened, only that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. He'd recognized the voices of course, but that didn't quite negate the shock of seeing Kronos and Triona, her arm looped possessively through his, standing at the edge of the ring that surrounded the alien device. From somewhere in the past, he remembered Spock telling him and Triona about a mirror universe of their own that the Enterprise had encountered in its first five-year mission. Could this be that universe?

Kronos looked much the same as he always had. Triona, on the other hand, had a brittleness and harshness that was totally foreign to the familiar visage of his wife. Her short spiked hair did nothing to soften the sharp edges of her face. More than anything, her eyes, cold and angry, struck home the knowledge that this was not his reality.

Finally, Kronos spoke. "This is an unforeseen turn of events." His eyes held that slightly amused expression that Methos knew so well. Like a cat deciding whether it wanted to play with the mouse or just snap its neck. "What happened?" he asked the woman at his side.

Triona removed her malevolent regard from Methos to answer Kronos' question. "There was a wave of quantum energy that was released when the device activated. "

"Fortunate indeed that we placed a forcefield over the area then." He ran his hand across her short hair affectionately. "Well done, my love."

She visibly blossomed with Kronos' approval. "If that wave had hit us, it would have broken nearly every bone in our bodies."

Methos heart fell at that last. They hadn't had a forcefield, which meant Triona… His worried thoughts were interrupted by Kronos' next question. "And our Methos? What happened to him?"

Shrugging, she looked at the scanner she held in one hand. "My best guess is that Methos is wherever _he_ came from." Once more Triona was looking at Methos with a look that he was sure she wished could kill.

This was a nightmare and a wave of cold nausea washed over him as he realized just how bad it was. Triona would be injured from the blast, totally defenseless against the man who had taken his place in their reality. He didn't have to imagine the outcome, only cast his mind back to his own past. Brutally he pushed back the fear and worry; there was nothing he could do for his wife now. He had to be in control, had to keep calm. Methos couldn't afford to make a mistake if he was going to have any chance of getting back home. That was the best he could do for Triona now.

Kronos once again addressed Methos, "Any thoughts?"

"I thought the device was a repository of knowledge. That's all I thought it was. I'm not a physicist, I don't know what might have happened" He waved a hand at Triona. "She's the expert."

Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes, looking at him suspiciously, and Kronos laughed. "Yes, she is. And you are quite different from our Methos to admit that."

"It's only the truth," Methos pointed out. "You want your Methos back, and I want to go home, and she's the one that is most likely to accomplish that." And anything he could do to remind her that he wasn't the man she hated was a step in the right direction.

"We could just kill you," she noted coolly, her hand drifting down to the phaser at her belt.

Kronos' hand went around her wrist. "There will be no killing, is that clear?" When she didn't immediately reply, the hand tightened its grip and she winced at the pain. "Is that clear?" He now focused his entire attention on the woman at his side.

Methos could see the struggle play out across her eyes, debating whether killing him would be worth defying Kronos. Then her shoulders slumped a little. She'd made her choice. "It's clear."

His grip loosened, but still he held her wrist. "Good girl. Besides, we may need him to get our Methos back."

Her eyes flashed and Methos knew that had been exactly what she'd been thinking. He definitely needed to watch his back where she was concerned. Fear of Kronos' retribution should she defy him might not be quite enough to stay her hand in the end.

Lifting her hand, he kissed the palm, smiling down at her approvingly. "That's settled then. Methos, you will join us at our camp as our guest until we can send you on your way."

* * *

His fingers brushed across her face and Triona fought back the almost overwhelming instinct to pull away. Trying to distract him, she said, "Please, I swear I'm not a threat to you."

It seemed to work, though not quite how she'd anticipated. He began to laugh as if she'd said the funniest thing in the world. He got back to his feet, still laughing. Looking down at her, he replied, "No, you most certainly are not. But thank you for reassuring me regardless!" He seemed to find the concept endlessly amusing and continued to chuckle softly to himself.

She pressed on, "Just let me figure out what brought you here." Another fear was now uppermost in her thoughts: the impending dawn. Triona was desperate to keep the knowledge of her inability to be in the sun from him. It was her one true terror, being left in the sun to burn. It had happened once before, an incident that still gave her nightmares centuries later. "The computer on my ship can help me figure out the readings the tricorder took when the device activated."

"So you're a rocket scientist too," he commented. "So is she, your double. Though she's as mad as a hatter most of the time. You aren't mad, are you?" He still seemed to find the situation amusing and a ghost of a smile settled on his lips.

"No, I'm not. Though if I were, I probably wouldn't notice, would I?" She kept her voice level.

Now he I was /I smiling. "You do have a point." Pulling a knife from the top of his boot, he dropped to one knee in front of her, cutting the ropes that bound her feet. "I've often wondered what she would have been like if she hadn't been subjected to the tender mercies of MacLeod and his witch for ten years. I suppose now I know." He was watching her again as he idly ran the knifepoint up between her breasts to rest at the hollow of her throat.

"I'm not her," she whispered.

It was like trying to balance on the point of the knife that pressed into her flesh. He wasn't her Methos; she couldn't allow herself to assume anything when it came to trying to judge how he'd react to any given situation. And yet, it was nearly impossible not to use what she knew of her own Methos to gauge the reactions of this mirror version.

"No, and I'm not him, and yet…" he didn't finish his thought, instead, sheathing the knife back in his boot and lifting her to her feet. This time, he held her up until the feeling came back to her legs and she could walk. "After you," he told her, motioning that she should lead.

Preceding the sunrise, she did just that, Methos following her silently up the path.


	4. Chapter 4

They reached Kronos' camp as the sun rose. Even at this early hour, there was activity, with people scurrying to and fro from the various tents. Then the presence of another Immortal sounded its discordant mental alarm and Methos looked farther into the camp to see yet another familiar figure making its way to them.

"There you are!" the hearty booming voice of Silas declared. "I was about to come looking for you." Like Kronos and Triona, Silas was identical, expect for cosmetic differences, to the one that had existed in his own reality. In this case, he sported a goatee and mustache and seemed to have a fondness for silk, if the scarlet sash tied around his waist was any indication. "It went well?"

"There was an unexpected complication, brother. It would appear that it was some sort of quantum device that shifts people between alternate realities," Kronos replied

Silas looked confused. "Do you know how you see yourself in a mirror?" Triona patiently explained. "Well, imagine that reflection is another you on the other side of the glass, and you could somehow switch places. That's what the device did to Methos."

Methos marveled at the change in her. When she was speaking to Silas, it was like something of his own Triona peeking out. She was gentle and warm and the anger was gone. "And Triona is going to figure out how to switch us back," Methos told Silas confidently. A confidence he was trying hard to convince himself of.

Silas peered at Methos for a few moments, nodding to himself. Then he looked back down at Triona, who seemed like a child next to his massive girth. "Of course she will! You are the smart one, little sister. Don't I always tell you that?"

"Yes, you do," she replied, smiling up at him, placing her right palm against his chest.

"You should listen to me more often then." He gently patted her on the head, like she was a kitten. "And when our Methos is back, he will apologize to you," he declared.

That made Triona laugh outright, and she touched Silas' cheek affectionately. "Whatever you say, brother."

Her long sleeve fell back, revealing an arm that was covered in scars. It was like molten cobwebs had been seared into her flesh. Methos pulled his horrified gaze away, but she seemed to sense his regard and quickly dropped her hand from Silas' face, tugging her sleeve down past her wrist. The harshness settled once more over her face.

"I have work to do," she said, biting out the words, Silas stroking her damaged arm in reassurance.

"Eat, then work," Kronos instructed. "Have your slave make you a meal. Which you will eat first, before you start on the scans."

"But…"

"Silas will escort you, just to make sure," Kronos added in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I'm not a child!" she protested nonetheless.

Kronos pulled her against him, kissing her hard. "No, you aren't, my love. But you will do as I say regardless. I always know what's best, don't I?"

Nodding, she relented, smiling a little. "Yes, you always do." Pulling away, she took the other man's arm. "Come, Silas, take me to my breakfast."

The two walked towards the camp arm in arm, Silas telling her about some amazing bat-like creature he'd found in the night.

Kronos watched after them. "A good woman, but a little scattered when it comes to the details of everyday life."

"What happened to her?"

"To her arm or to her mind?" Kronos laughed at the startled look on Methos' face. "Oh, no, she's not entirely sane. But then who of us are?" he asked, slapping Methos on the back companionably.

"Who indeed?"

Kronos walked towards the center of the camp, Methos following beside him. "I suppose you could say the arm and the mind are part of the same story."

They reached a large tent that Kronos indicated Methos should enter. The interior was opulent and lush, with luxurious accoutrements from a hundred alien cultures. Kronos lived like a king, with all a king's perquisites. He sank into the pillowed seating area in the center, immediately seen to by several slaves, one who removed his outer garments, and another that washed his hands with warm scented cloths. When they were done seeing to their master, they turned their attention to their master's guest.

This was a setting they could only have dreamed of in their Horseman days. Methos wondered just what brought Kronos such a lifestyle.

"Not like the old days, hmm?" Kronos asked, seeming to read Methos' thoughts. A talent that Methos found as disquieting now with this version as he had with his own Kronos centuries before.

"Life has been good to you," Methos told him with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"It has indeed. Methos and Triona, despite their mutual antipathy, are an excellent team. War, my friend, has been and always shall be the lucre that makes the universe go round. Those two have created weaponry that has waged more than one war in this galaxy. And along the way has made us kings, and queen, of our own little corner of it.

Methos took a sip of wine from the goblet a slave had handed him. "And just what did you rescue the woman from?" he asked, bringing the subject back to Triona. He took another sip. "Kronos always said the best guard for a man's back was a woman who was grateful," he added.

Chuckling, Kronos raised his goblet. "A wise man." He settled himself more comfortably. "When Triona was fifteen, one of us, a Duncan MacLeod found her. He murdered her family while she watched, then took her for himself. He liked them young, young pre-immortals especially. For more than ten years, he and his woman did as they pleased with her."

The goblet was drained, and Methos stared down into its empty depths. He held on to his emotions with a steel will. "And then you took his head."

"Strictly business. Let's just say there wasn't room in the market for both of us. I prevailed. And along with his quickening, I took his business interests along with everything that belonged to him. Triona didn't know what she was going to be, but I sensed her potential."

"A talent you've always had in abundance," Methos said dryly.

"It's one of the things I do best!" Kronos agreed. "And my belief in that potential has paid off a thousand-fold!" He threw his arms out expansively taking in the decadent surroundings and perhaps even the galaxy at large.

"And the ill will between her and my mirror image?" Methos asked. He was desperate to discover as much as he could about this other Triona. Desperate for the knowledge that might give him the key to convincing her to send him home to his own wife. Every moment that passed was one more that she spent at the tender mercies of the Methos from this twisted version of reality.

The other man smiled cagily. "Now that would be another story entirely, wouldn't it? One that can keep. It's been a long night, especially for you, Methos. The slave will see you to your tent. Eat, rest, and we will meet again for the evening meal."

Methos choked back the objection that rose to his lips. He knew a dismissal when he heard one, and pressing the matter wouldn't aid him in his goal. Instead, nodding in acquiescence, he rose. "'Til this evening then."

* * *

Triona sat at her computer station in the Alqualondë's lounge, poring over the data from her tricorder and the other instruments that had been scanning the device. This was what she'd always been happiest doing, and now what she did best was a matter of life and death. There were brief moments that it was almost possible to block out the presence of the man that sat across the room from her. But those were rare. He may have been reading, but she knew that his attention never shifted from her. His eyes on her were like spiders crawling across her flesh.

At first, he'd confined her in the brig. Then a few hours later, he'd returned to take her to the computer, where he'd used a security restraint to lock one wrist to the chair arm. "Now I've taken the precaution of overriding the security protocols," he'd told her, "I think it's safe to let you near the computer." Then he'd leaned in, saying softly, "And I think it goes without saying how unhappy I'll be if you cause me any trouble."

That had been three hours ago, and as she worked, her mind went over what options there might be to save herself. But the one option she had scared her to death. Triona didn't know if it would work, and if she failed… if she failed..

"I must say, these make for fascinating reading," his voice broke into the quiet, startling her. Her captor had a pile of Methos' journals on the table at his side that he'd been reading while she worked at the computer.

I If there's anything in there that gives him another hold over me, I'll kill you, my love /I , she mentally muttered. What she said was, "I'm sure."

"You've read them, of course." She had her back to him, but she didn't need to be facing him to see the expression on his face. His tone said it all. Needling her, trying to bait her into a reaction. A more than familiar trait, though never with such perilous consequences.

Triona didn't immediately answer, running her free hand over the display, changing the phase parameters of the quantum energy signatures. "No. I don't read ancient Greek, or whatever mumbo jumbo those are written in."

"No? Pity. I'm sure you'd find the contents fascinating."

"If he wanted me to read them, they'd be in a language I could understand." She wouldn't rise to his taunting.

"In that case, let me read some of the more illuminating sections to you." He was enjoying this game of his, and there was an edge of cruelty to the teasing note in his voice.

She closed her eyes, steeling herself. "Please, I need to interpret these findings." But she knew it was useless. Whatever it was he'd found in Methos' journals he fully intended to share with her.

"Oh, I think it's time you took a break." He came over to perch on the edge of her workstation. "I insist." He flipped past a few pages. "Now where… Oh, yes, here it is…"

_ "Triona has left with Picard._

_What a fool I've been. My wife, who I now realize, has been lying to me for so many years. How could I have not known? They are now both far from here. And if they weren't? There's no doubt in my mind; I would have killed him. I would have killed him without a single regret. And what about Triona? Only now do I realize she has the power to make my soul bleed. And I think I hate her for that more than I do for her betrayal._

Blinking back tears, she clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palms. She would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Those years had been some of the worst Triona had ever experienced. But she and Methos had come through the pain and the betrayal to forge an even stronger bond. She would not allow this I stranger /I to intrude on something so intimate, no matter the provocation.

His hand came to rest against the back of her neck, and the feeling of spiders crawling across her skin became almost unbearable. "I would have tracked you down, wherever you and your lover had fled." His voice dropped to a caustic hiss. "He would have died." The hand tightened. "And you would have wished you had."

This time, she couldn't stop herself from pulling away. "It's nothing to do with you! I don't care about your opinion!"

"Is that what you think?" He leaned in, caressing her cheek. "Don't you realize that my opinion of you is all that matters now. Your life, or your death, is in my hands. And I know you want to live." She shuddered as he pressed his cheek against hers, whispering into her ear, "You do want to live, don't you, Triona?"

"Yes." It was all she could do to force out that one word. His closeness was unbearable, but it was also the best chance she would probably ever have to try and free herself.

Triona wasn't a true vampire, but the one talent she did have was a vampire's ability to ensorcel. Her Master, and his, were powerful vampires, and that power had passed to her. It was also something she and Methos had argued about for nearly four centuries. He found the ability disquieting and had always objected to her using it. And partly, she'd agreed, refusing to use it against other Immortals lest it become a crutch. A crutch that could fail her in the heat of battle. But now? Now it might be her only weapon. She had no idea if she could overcome him, but saw no other option but to try.

She's been a captive before, had been a pawn used against those she loved. But this was different. There was no reason for this. It wasn't revenge, or war, it was simply because he could, because he enjoyed it. And what made it unbearable was that her captor wore the face of the man she loved; and was him in a way that she had trouble wrapping her brain around. Triona thought in that moment that facing Divia again would be preferable. This… this terrified her.

He drew back, tucking her hair behind her ear. "There, you see? I knew you'd see reason."

Catching his gaze, she took a breath, then reached out with her mind. She could hear Lucien's voice in the back of her mind, telling her that delicacy was the key to control. Even a resistor could be overcome with a gentle touch. His eyes locked on hers, and she exhaled, centering herself. Now came the test. "Please remove the restraints," she whispered. She repeated the command mentally. "You don't need to keep me a prisoner."

Triona slammed down the wave of exultation that swept through her as he nodded. "Just remove the restraint." She tightened her mental grip as he released the metal band that confined her to the chair. Finally free, she held his gaze, not letting her control slip. Reaching for the security restraints, she barely dared to breathe. She was so close.

Then the tether of her control snapped and the eyes that she looked into were full of cold fury. "That was very foolish," he snarled, bringing the edge of the metal restraint down on her wrist, shattering the bones. She cried out in pain, cries that became a scream as he dragged her from the chair by her broken wrist. "I warned you!"

He propelled her out of the lounge and down the corridor towards the entry hatch. "Vampires are a myth where I come from," he told her. "Imagine my surprise to discover they exist here in your reality."

Gasping for breath, terror overwhelmed her as she realized he knew everything. It had been a trap, all of it. And she'd walked right into it.

Throwing her against the bulkhead, he forced her head up, looking down at her like death incarnate. "I really must thank Methos for everything he's done. Without his journal entries, I might have actually been taken in by your witchery!"

Punching the controls, the hatch opened with a woosh. His fist impacted against her jaw, stunning her. "Now you pay the price for your treachery," he told her as he shoved her out into the sun to burn.

* * *

A guard had led Methos to Triona's large tent across the center clearing from Kronos'.

It had been many hours since Kronos had dismissed him, and Methos thought he would go insane from the enforced inactivity. He had paced his tent like a caged animal, the feeling of being totally dependant on those who were both strangers and people he knew better than himself tying his mind up in knots of paradox and worry. Then a guard had appeared, telling him that Triona had summoned him.

She didn't look up as he entered, seemingly engrossed in the computer display she sat in front of. Rubbing her thumb against the tips of her fingers, she chewed at her lower lip. It was a hauntingly familiar gesture, and Methos harshly reminded himself that this was not his Triona. To forget that could be perilous.

He moved deeper into the tent, which seemed to be set up as some sort of lab. To the left of Triona's computer station was a large display board, covered in writing Methos recognized as his own. To the right was a large worktable, covered in bits and pieces excavated from the planet. "You wanted to see me?" he finally said into the quiet.

She glanced up at him, a flash of something he couldn't quite identify passing across her eyes before she dipped her head down once more. "I want to you tell me everything that happened up to the moment you ended up here." Still, she didn't look at him. "And I mean everything, no matter how trivial it may seem to you."

He complied, pacing back and forth as he tried to recall every detail about his experience. "The silence is what I remember most," he finished.

"Silence?"

"After the shift, it was silent. There was no ambient noise at all for nearly a minute."

Nodding, she turned her attention back to the computer. While she worked, Methos walked over to the display board, basically a twenty-fourth century computerized version of a white board. He reread the translation, as he had hundreds of times before. Now, in hindsight, the correct translation leapt out at him. Picking up a stylus, he crossed out 'way to knowledge and power' and wrote instead 'powered way to knowledge'. "The 'way' was a literal conduit, powered to bring someone here. "To gain knowledge of another reality," he muttered angrily. He was a fool. So certain that he was right, that he knew better than anyone did what the alien device was.

"I told them we were coming to a too obvious conclusion." Startled, Methos realized she'd come to stand next to him. "Just because we were looking for new technology to expand our power, to create new weapons, didn't mean the civilization that lived and died here had similar goals at all." She sounded thoughtful, with no trace of the anger that had marked their previous exchanges.

"But they didn't listen?"

"Oh, Kronos always listens. But in the end, if there's a disagreement we can't resolve, he sides with Methos. He has for thousands of years, so why would that change just because I'm here now?" She seemed resigned to that fact. Then she looked up at him, with almost a smile touching her lips. "Are you going to try and make me believe that you don't always think you're right too?"

Laughing softly, he admitted, "Probably too much of the time, yes."

Turning away, she said, "And i he /i always does his best to undermine me. To make Kronos doubt my judgement." She sounded angry again.

"Why stay?" He hadn't meant to ask so baldly, but there it was. "There's a whole galaxy out there."

She whirled back towards him, her face taut with anger. "Why should I leave? I have as much right to be here as he does! I earned my place!"

Methos tried to backtrack. "I never meant to imply," he began, only to be interrupted.

"Never meant to imply what? That Kronos keeps me here because he likes me in his bed?" She laughed with an edge of bitterness. "Well, he does! But there are ample bodies in every slave market in the quadrant, and Kronos takes his pleasure where he will. But if you think that's the only reason I have a place at his side, then you couldn't be more wrong!"

"It's obvious to anyone who knows Kronos that is not the reason you're here," he said in his least threatening tone. The one he'd perfected in millennia past for calming wild horses and hysterical women. It almost always worked. And he prayed it did this time. He couldn't afford to alienate her. Everything depended on her now.

Narrowing her eyes, she looked at him suspiciously, but just nodded sharply. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a more measured voice, "I earned my place," she repeated. "Caspian, Cassandra, they both underestimated me. But they're dead and I'm here, and I have everything I've always wanted: power, wealth, respect… a place."

As she spoke, Methos regretted never telling his own Triona often enough how proud he was of her. One of the pitfalls of immortality, he supposed, always believing there was time enough for everything, especially for him, the oldest immortal. Of course, there were so many things he should have taken the time to say, that now, might go forever unsaid. They said, 'pride goeth before the fall' – but his pride had brought both him and his wife to this desperate place, together, but a universe apart.

He wanted to tell the woman at his side that there were so many possibilities. But that was something he couldn't do. It was his own reality, his own love and life that mattered now, and he couldn't allow for stray sentiment to interfere.

But something he couldn't change was his insatiable curiosity. He'd wondered about Caspian, and was compelled to ask, "Caspian is dead then?"

"Long dead," she replied softly. Then her voice hardened as she began to pace. "He was a liability, and in my way. Methos wanted him gone as much as I did. But they were I brothers /I ," she practically spat the word. "So he couldn't take his head, not directly."

"But you could."

She looked at him sidelong, the last rays of sunset arcing through the open tent flap, casting her face in harsh lines and shadows. "Oh yes, I could. I bided my time, learned everything I could, but after fifty years of Caspian being a thorn in my side, standing in my way, I took my chance."

Methos carefully schooled his expression into one of seeming indifference. But under the façade, his mind was racing. If she'd taken Caspian's head, so young, no wonder she was slightly mad.

"Not alone, not without help. Like I said, Methos wanted him gone as much as I did. So we worked together, in a manner of speaking. One of Methos' many poisons for my dagger, Caspian, after drinking too much with Methos, manipulated into attacking me, breaking one of Kronos' cardinal rules. After that, I had cause; Silas was my witness. With the poison and the drink, the fight was… even."

And his doppelgänger knew that Caspian's quickening would leave Triona unstable. Methos had dealt with two problems at once. That's what he would have done. And the knowledge of that turned his stomach, remembering the man he'd been, the man he could still be.

"And afterwards? Kronos' reaction?"

She laughed hollowly. "I took the blame, left Methos' part out of it. That was the agreement. I could deal with whatever punishment Kronos devised. Because after... after, I had Caspian's place. And less to fear." That last was whispered, and Methos wasn't sure if she'd intended for him to hear.

Together, they watched the sun set on the planet that had drawn them together from two different realities.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Finally, a new part -- even though it didn't quite come out as I initially envisioned. This story seems to be doing a lot of that to me! Sorry it took so long, but I literally had to drag this bit out kicking and screaming. The next part looks to be in the same sort of mood, but I'll try and get it done faster this time! Thanks for your patience, and for reading! Hope this was worth the wait.

* * *

The music had returned. Somewhere in that place between death and rebirth, Triona often heard music. Sometimes she thought it was what heaven must sound like. There was always music there; the sound of the angels singing was everywhere. Or at least that's what her grandmother, Catrìona MacAlpine, used to say when Triona had been a child visiting for the summer at the family home in Nova Scotia.

For a time the angelic sounds wrapped her in a warm blanket of peace. Then the music began to drift away as awareness slowly returned, only to come to a violent screeching finale as pain roared across her in a searing wave. She would have screamed, but perhaps thankfully, her vocal cords hadn't healed enough for her to do so. Agony pushed her back into black nothingness.

There was a voice that pulled her back to consciousness, back to pain. Though not enough pain for escape this time. It was a voice Triona knew intimately. It had comforted her, raged at her, and loved her. She tried to say his name, needing his reassurance. Terrified, though unable to remember why. But everything would be all right now; now he was here.

"I told you I'd be displeased if you caused trouble." The voice that had only moments before brought comfort now dragged the terror from the darkness back to conscious memory. "Now that you understand the consequences, perhaps further demonstrations will be unnecessary."

Desperately, she tried to get away, but all she managed was a choked whimper that barely passed her still charred lips. There was so much pain, so much fear that she couldn't think, only react with a panic her body was unable to respond to.

"Shhhhh, fighting me isn't going to help. Don't make me hurt you again, Triona." Methos sounded so calm and reasonable, not at all like the man in a fury who had brutally thrown her into the sun to burn. Something cool came to rest against her throat. "I'm not without mercy." There was pressure and a hiss as the hypospray released its contents into her bloodstream. "Sleep now, and when you wake up, we'll start fresh, you and I." His words drifted past her as the sedative took her down into its painless hold.

* * *

She knew it was a dream, but she didn't care, pulling the edges of memory around her like a cloak…

_It was the morning after the day before, and everything had changed. Except for one thing – she still loved him. Loved him more than she should have and so much that it scared her. Or it would have if she'd let herself think about._

_In just a few hours, everything had changed. 'Adam' was dead and gone, and the reality of who Methos was and had been was almost impossible to grasp. Triona grappled with what he'd confessed the afternoon prior, about his past, about what had happened over the last weeks: Kronos, Cassandra, and the Horsemen…Death. Reconciling Adam Pierson – because that's who he'd really been to her, despite her knowing his true name – with Death was a nearly impossible feat. But he was hurting, she knew that, and she loved him, she knew that too. Somehow, it had to help her cope with the violent shift her life had taken in the last twenty-four hours._

_When he'd woken that morning, she'd been standing by the window, watching him sleep. They'd said little, each waiting for the other to start. After breakfast, they'd gone for a walk, down to the lakeshore, still mostly silent, till Methos had said, "If you've changed you mind, I understand. I won't stay if you tell me to go."_

_She started to protest, but he stopped her, a finger across her lips. "No, listen to me, Triona. It was too much for you to take in yesterday. In the cold light of day, you must be having second thoughts." There was a desperate edge to his voice. He expected her to agree but at the same time, was afraid she would._

_Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength. Then she looked up at him, remembering everything that had come before, how he'd loved her, how he'd taken care of her when she'd been near death. How he'd been all she had when everything was dark and she'd thought her life was over. Finally, she asked, "Who are you really, Methos?" She put her palm against his chest, feeling his heart beat strong._

_He searched her eyes, as if trying to read her very soul. Then he said, so softly that his words wove themselves into the wind, "A man who loves you…." _

The memories, the dream, drifted away as the sedative wore off, and less pleasant, more recent memories intruded on her fleeting peace. She wanted it to be a nightmare. Something she'd wake up from, only to be comforted and told that it was all a bad dream. But that wasn't going to happen. She was a prisoner of someone who was an intimate and familiar stranger. And she had to do whatever was necessary to get the man she loved back from that mirror place he was trapped in. It was her turn to save him, to repay all the times he'd been there for her over the last four centuries. Whatever the price, she would pay it.

* * *

"What were you dreaming about?" he asked.

Triona had come to on a bed in one of the empty cabins to find her tormenter sitting in a chair watching her. Now she sat against the wall, her knees drawn up on the edge of the bed.

Clenching a fist into the cover, she shook her head. "I don't remember," she lied.

"You called out for him, you know," he said, slightly mocking. "I wonder how he's faring in my place? Kronos no doubt will find it entertaining, and Triona, well... she'd as soon kill him as anything just for the sin of having my face."

Kronos was alive in his reality? That was something she hadn't been prepared for, and her fear for Methos ratcheted up at the revelation. Despite her best efforts, something of her distress must have showed. "Oh, yes, he's quite alive. I must say I was surprised to discover he hadn't made it past the twentieth century here. I'm sure there must be a story behind it, a story you can share with me later."

She didn't reply, just stared past his shoulder at the wall behind. He stood up, towering over her perch on the bed. "Still being stubborn, I see. We'll have to discuss that later as well." Swallowing at the threat, she clenched the blanket in her fist even tighter. "But for now," he continued, "you reek of burnt flesh -- not a pleasing scent at all. Clean yourself up," he ordered, taking her arm, pulling her off the bed and propelling her towards the bathroom. "When you're fit again for civilized company, we'll continue our _discussion_ ." For a moment his hand lingered at her waist, his fingers brushing up across her ribs and she suppressed a shudder at the touch. "And then we'll see if you can be more biddable."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_I've upped the rating to '"M" after writing this part, which contains implied non-consensual sex. _

* * *

Triona sobbed under the nearly scalding water of the shower. Everything that had happened in the hours since Methos had accidentally activated the alien device overwhelming her in a wave of terror and grief. And what was past mixed with the fear of what lay ahead. She knew that the outcome was inevitable, and part of her just wanted it over with. Of course, her captor knew that too. That was the reason for the mind games, for drawing out the dread, the nauseating anticipation, for as long as possible.

Pounding her fist into the shower wall, she took a deep breath. She had survived Divia, she had survived Hakeem, and she had survived WWIII. She could survive this. Not just could, but had to. To get Methos back home. Triona let the steaming water wash over her for a few minutes more before resolutely turning off the water, letting the sonic jets dry her skin and hair. Reaching into the cleaning compartment, she pulled out the clothing she'd placed there before getting in the shower, quickly dressing. Then she braided her long blonde hair into a tight plait that fell down past her shoulders.

Walking back into the empty cabin, she saw two things had been left for her. As much as she hated accepting anything from her captor, she knew she needed to eat, and quickly downed the chicken sandwich and fruit that had been placed on the table. As she ate she considered the second thing; the scarlet dress of Aldebaran silk that had been laid across the chair he'd sat in. 'He' ­ that's how she thought of him. He wasn't 'Methos'; he could never be Methos to her, ever.

The dress was another twist of the knife. He couldn't have possibly known that it was her husband's favourite. And yet, he'd unerringly picked it out from amongst all the clothing in her closet. Then she reconsidered. Maybe he did know. Maybe that was in Methos' damn journals as well. When this was over, she was going to learn ancient bloody Greek if it was the last thing she did!

Picking up the dress, Triona considered her options such as they were. This was not a request, that she knew, but every fiber of her rebelled at the thought of submitting to this voiceless command. Unconsciously, she twisted her wedding ring around her finger, trying to decide what to do. Defying him wouldn't gain her anything in the end. Methos would tell her to submit, bide her time, do whatever she had to to survive and wait for her opportunity to prevail. Decision made, she quickly stripped off her tunic and slacks, putting on the delicately wrought silk dress. Then she sat in the chair and waited.

Nearly an hour passed before he made an appearance. He gave her a cursory glance upon entering, but he seemed to have other things on his mind. "There's an incoming transmission for you," he told her. "You're going to take it in the lounge. And you're going to behave yourself. No secret signals to your people."

She leveled a cool, emotionless gaze on him. "Because of course, I had the forethought to arrange a 'help me, the evil double of my husband has taken me captive' signal."

There was an explosive snort of laughter in response. "You do have spirit, considering. I have to give you that." He held out the security restraints, motioning her to stand and turn around. "You may be entertaining," he said into her ear, "but I don't think we need to take any chances, do you?" The cuffs snapped around her wrists, and then he turned her, leading her from the room.

They walked down the corridor, Triona doing her best to ignore the feeling of his hand, warm against her waist, marshaling her revulsion, remembering what was at stake. Then they were entering the lounge and he was pushing her down into the chair in front of the comm unit.

"You're a smart girl, so don't do anything stupid," he warned as he toggled on the screen. Triona only had a few moments to gather herself before the image of her cousin Stephanie materialized on the screen in front of her.

"Trie!" the pretty dark-haired vampire greeted her. "How goes the great archeological adventure? Ready to kill Methos yet?"

"It's going about like you'd expect. Methos found another artifact and is off exploring a cave system that he thinks might yield the final clue," she lied glibly.

"You're a saint, Trie, really you are. I couldn't spend that much time on a dead planet with only Methos for company. But you always were a soft touch, so…" Stephanie grinned impishly to take the sting from her words.

"You would know," Triona observed dryly, and her cousin had the good grace to look at least a little abashed. "But Methos' newest research tangent means we're going to be here a bit longer than we planned. I'm going to have to get Jacob to rearrange my schedule. Can you ask him to reschedule my visit to Romulas? Send Legate Trayvan my apologies and see if he's amenable to meeting at a later date? Have Jacob tell him that I need to deal with family matters. He'll understand."

"Sure thing, Trie." She tapped into the data console in front of her. "Before you go, I have a message from Lucia."

Triona's heart contracted a little. Her daughter, Lucia, was in her first year at Starfleet Academy, and she wondered if she would ever see her child again. She carefully steadied her voice and her breathing before replying, "Oh?"

"First, she sends her love to you and to Methos. But she wanted to know if you'd be mad if she spent her winter break on Andoria with her roommate, Tren, instead of coming home? Tren's family has invited her and she really wants to go."

"Like she thought I'd say no?" Triona laughed hollowly. It was a good thing her only child didn't seem to need her anymore, because chances were good she wouldn't be alive by the time her daughter's winter break was done. "Of course it's fine. Tell her for me, would you? And tell her I love her?"

"Will do, Trie. I'll see you when you get home," she said brightly. "IPU Command out."

Stephanie's image faded from the screen, and Triona fought back the crushing hopelessness that seemed to settle over her in a suffocating blanket.

His mocking voice intruded on her thoughts. "Tsk, tsk! Your daughter doesn't want to spend her first break after leaving home with her mother? How very sad." He stroked her cheek with a finger. "What did you do to drive her away? Too demanding? Never happy with her no matter what she did? A disappointment to you and your impossible standards?"

Triona wanted to scream at him, but with every ounce of self-control left to her, she choked back her angry response. She would not give him the satisfaction.

Chuckling, he sat on the edge of console next to her chair. "You don't fool me, little one. I know that there's a passionate woman beneath that façade of control. The question is, just what will it take to tap that passion?" Then his hands started to move over her hair, undoing the braid it was held in. "The Triona in my reality doesn't have your hair. She keeps it cropped short, shorter than mine. It's unattractive, not a woman's hair at all. But yours… your hair is what a woman's should be," he said softly as he ran his fingers through the tresses, separating them from the constraining plait. "You must be beautiful in bed, with your hair falling over you like a cloak."

The memory of Methos saying that to her just about broke her. The evening they'd gone to the alien device, he'd brushed out her hair, gathering it up in his hands, telling her how beautiful she looked wearing nothing else. It had only been the day before, and yet, it seemed like an eternity. The thought of a life without him tore at her soul.

He spread her hair across her shoulders. "That's better." Leaning in, he ran his hands down her bare arms to undo the restraints that bound her wrists behind her back. "I don't think we need these right now, do you? Oh, I suppose you could try something stupid, but you know if you fail you'll end up back in the sun." One hand cupped her jaw as he whispered into her ear, "Not a heartening prospect, is it?"

She took a ragged breath, closing her eyes, trying not to remember what had happened only hours before. Not remember her own screams as her skin burned, not remember the scent of her flesh as it charred in the sun and the seemingly endless agony.

Laughing softly, his lips still at her ear, he said, "Yes, I think you're going to behave from now on, aren't you, Triona?" Then the lips moved along the line of her jaw, finally reaching her mouth.

He was right, and she hated herself for it. But the horror of the burning was too fresh. She didn't fight him as he kissed her. She didn't do anything at all. Not that fighting him would make any difference to the inevitable end. The only thing she had any control over were her own reactions, so she reached deep within herself, utilizing every ounce of the Vulcan mental disciplines she had learned over the last two centuries. It was her very last defense against the man that held her captive.

Then his hands dropped to her waist, undoing the sash on her dress, slipping in to stroke the skin beneath, moving up to fondle her breasts. "What? No pleas for mercy? No begging me to spare you from a fate worse than death?" His amusement was palpable. "I truly thought you'd be more entertaining. How very disappointing."

"What difference does it make?" she ground out. "Nothing I say is going matter in the end!"

He drew back. "Maybe I want you to beg." Now he loomed over her, hands now grasping her thighs. "Maybe I want you to act like a human woman, not a Vulcan."

"And maybe I just want you to get it over with so I can back to figuring out how to send you home!" This time she did shout. She _was_ human, and no amount of mental discipline could stop her furious outburst in the end.

"That's more like it, little one." He straightened, toying with a strand of her hair. And then he asked a question she never anticipated, "And just what makes you think I want to go back?"

Her heart stopped at his words. It had never occurred to her that he might not want to go back to his universe. This had to be a ploy, another mind game. It had to be! She shook her head mutely, numb with shock.

"I rather like the idea of playing the wolf to the sheep in your reality," he explained. "There's much to benefit a man such as myself here." Then a cruel smile settled on his lips. "And no one will ever be the wiser. The grieving widower, my beloved wife killed in an accident with the alien device; so very, very sad. No one will question my need to start afresh someplace else, somewhere not littered with painful reminders of you."

A thumb gently wiped away the tear the slipped down her face. "No need for tears now -- I may decide to let you live, you know. You can stay here, out of harm's way, and I'll come back for you... eventually." Settling in the chair across from her, he sprawled out, watching her intently. "Ahhh... but the tears aren't for yourself, are they? They're for him." His voice took on a cold bite that traveled to his eyes, and she shivered despite herself. "Believe me when I tell you that you're ten kinds of a fool if you don't save those tears for yourself, Triona."

She wished she could hide from his scrutiny; she felt exposed and vulnerable and terrified. The lounge had become increasingly claustrophobic and she felt as if she couldn't breathe. It was like living a nightmare, one she couldn't wake up from. "You can't want to stay here," she whispered. Then louder, "This isn't your universe!"

"Perhaps. I haven't made a final decision yet." His eyes traveled her body, like a tiger stalking his prey. "Which brings us back to you. Tell me, just what are you willing to do to get him back, my lovely Triona?"

She didn't reply, staring off into some place only she could see.

"Answer me!" he commanded.

Triona knew he already had the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. "Anything," she said tonelessly.

"Come here." Those two words fell into the silence of the room. No longer amused, no longer angry. He didn't need to be any of those anymore. Now he knew he'd won.

Triona obeyed. There were no options left.

Reaching up, he wound her hair around his fist, using it as a lever to pull her down to kneel before him. "And what do you think, having done whatever it took to get him back, he'll feel when he looks at you? Do you suppose he will ever be able to touch you again without remembering what happened here?" The hand tightened in her hair, pulling her had back sharply, his eyes capturing hers. "I will always be with you, Triona."


	7. Chapter 7

Methos watched as the sun set, casting the landscape of the alien planet in hues of green and yellow. "Dawn! It was dawn here!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"What?"

Slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other, he didn't immediately answer, lost in thought. Then he looked down at the woman who was a mirror of his wife. "It was hours before dawn when I touched the device, but when I arrived here, the sun was almost rising!"

"You're sure?" Triona asked, her eyes already someplace else as she began to mull over this new information.

"Yes." He followed her back into the tent. "Is that significant?" _Please let it be._

"I think so," she replied absently, not really paying attention to him anymore, lost in her own world of quantum realities.

"Will it help to send me back?" he demanded with a note of yearning.

She looked up sharply, then asked question of her own, "Just why are you so eager to go back? What's there that's so important?"

He needed to be more careful; she wasn't blind. Putting a tighter reign on his emotions, he shrugged and shook his head. "I don't belong here. I can feel it. The sooner I go back to my reality, the better."

Tilting her head, she searched his eyes for the lie she seemed to expect there. "It might," she finally answered his question. "But I need to think, something that would be easier to do with fewer interruptions," she said pointedly, sitting down at her workstation.

Taking the hint, Methos sat in the chair across the table from her. She typed furiously into the terminal, keeping up an almost inaudible dialogue to herself as she did so. Then she reached for a stylus with her scarred left hand, but lost hold of it. It clattered back to the desk and she snatched her hand back into her chest, suddenly aware of his regard. He realized that the scarring was more than a surface injury and that whatever had happened had damaged the tendons between her thumb and forefinger.

"I can't work with you here. Leave," she snapped, not looking at him, still cradling her hand between her breasts.

Methos felt a wave of empathy for the woman across from him. He knew she wasn't his Triona, but the haunted look in her eyes was too much. Without really thinking, he reached for her hand. "There are exercises you can do to strengthen your hand," he said softly, taking gentle hold of her wrist. She let him draw it down to the table between them. "It can't be permanently repaired, but you can increase the dexterity and strengthen the muscles."

She exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath, and he felt her pulse racing under his fingers. Carefully, softly, he rubbed the scar tissue that webbed between her thumb and finger. "I can help, if you'll let me." Then he looked up, catching a look of sheer terror in her eyes just before she pulled herself from his grasp, throwing herself back, toppling out of the chair in the process.

"Stay away!" she screamed, leaping to her feet, her right hand now holding a wicked looking dagger.

Dumbfounded by the violent change in her mood, Methos stayed where he was. _She's not entirely sane,_ Kronos' words came back to him. "I'm sorry," he tried to placate her. "I only wanted to help."

"No!" She pointed the dagger at him. "Do you think I'm a fool? You're just like him! You want to help me? You're the reason this happened!" Triona thrust out her scarred arm. "Cassandra may have poured the acid, but you were the one who caused it to happen!" She was in a terrorized panic, her shouted accusations mixing with sobs.

_The road to hell, you idiot…_ I Standing up, he slowly backed away from her, holding up his palms. "It's okay, I'll go now. I swear I won't hurt you." Then the presence of another Immortal washed over him. Methos didn't turn, keeping his full attention on the woman before him.

Kronos, followed by Silas, strode past him, and Methos sighed in relief, a part of him not unaware of the irony at being relieved by Kronos' presence.

Her eyes fell on Kronos like a drowning woman's, as she pressed the tip of her blade against her throat, sobbing piteously. "All will be well, my love," Kronos said softly, focusing his will on her. "Give it to me," he commanded, still keeping his voice pitched low. "Please, Triona."

Methos held his breath as he watched the tableau before him play out. He had done everything he could, all those centuries ago, to keep Triona away from Kronos. Seeing them together here, in this reality, was something he was having trouble dealing with. They weren't his Kronos or Triona, and yet… and yet. The thought that there might have been some sort of attraction between them was something he had never considered – till now. And that sense of possibility left him feeling more unsettled than anything had this day.

Then the dagger was in Kronos' hand and he tossed it behind him. Triona was still crying as Kronos drew her into his arms. Silas stood silently behind, as if on guard. All of them ignored Methos' presence in the tent.

Kronos drew back, looking over at Silas, who handed him a hypospray. Silas' hands came down gently but firmly, enveloping Triona's shoulders.

"No, please…" she pleaded, managing to choke out the words between sobs, struggling futilely against Silas' hold.

"Shhh…" he stroked her hair. "You need to sleep now, my love. Silas will watch over you and in the morning, all will be well. You trust me, don't you?" Gently, he pressed his lips against her forehead, the hand holding the hypospray coming up to her throat, the hiss of the injection audible in the quiet of the tent.

As she crumpled, Silas scooped her into his large arms, carrying her over to a cot at the back of the tent, laying her gently upon it. He drew a coverlet up to her chin, then sat down on the ground, leaning against the cot, watching over the woman that lay there.

Only then did Kronos turn his attention to Methos. "A word," came the preemptory command.

Methos silently followed Kronos from the tent into the dark.

* * *

"Why were you there?" Kronos demanded. "I distinctly recall telling you we would meet at the evening meal."

They had crossed the clearing back to Kronos' tent. Now the man paced back and forth, not looking at Methos.

"She sent a guard for me. Told me to tell her every detail of my transfer to this place." Methos clenched a hand into a fist. "I don't know what happened. One minute she was fine, the next…"

"Yes." Now Kronos met Methos' eyes. "Yes, I know. This isn't the first time, as you have probably gathered."

"Her hand." Methos exhaled sharply. "I'm a doctor, and I wanted to help, that's all."

"She isn't your woman here, Methos." He waved away his protest. "Don't deny it! I'm not a fool; I can see it in your eyes when you look at her!"

"Fine! Yes, I have a Triona in my universe. But all I wanted to do was try and help your Triona here, if I could. I had no idea that she would react as she did. You have to know that!"

Kronos didn't respond, instead taking a long swallow of the Romulan ale in his goblet.

"I just want to go home," Methos said. "Home to my wife and my daughter, my friends -- my life. I don't belong here; you know that."

Kronos was still silent, but he nodded, filling another goblet with the blue liquid and handing it to Methos. They drank with no words, a tenuous companionship drawing them together.

And Methos remembered. Remembered the times of peace and friendship. It hadn't always been killing, burning and raping. There had been family, companionship, and a place of belonging when he'd rode with the Horsemen. That had been as much of a temptation when Kronos had reentered his life as the power that Death held sway over. A temptation he'd turned away from. But here, this night, in a reality that wasn't his, he remembered, and felt a pang of loss for what could never be again. Not for him.

"What did they do to her?" Methos finally asked, his voice echoing in the silence of the night, the only other sound the fire in its brazier crackling.

Kronos poured more ale into their goblets before sinking down into the pillows of the seating area, motioning Methos to do the same. "I sent Methos to infiltrate MacLeod's organization. Cassandra was his opening. In the old days, she'd been something of a competitor. Her tribe had sacrificed her, because of her powers, and when she came back to life, they worshiped her as a goddess, setting her up in a temple. We left each other alone, more or less, having different interests for the most part. So Methos used his acquaintance with her to get close to MacLeod."

"And Triona was there."

"Yes, MacLeod's favourite. A possession he'd invested a great deal in. Cassandra, of course, hated her. And as long as she didn't permanently damage the girl, MacLeod paid little attention to what punishments Cassandra devised. But Cassandra was his right hand, and Methos needed her gone for our plans to come to fruition."

"And he used Triona to do it." Methos had a sick feeling, not knowing the details, but knowing just how his doppelgänger would think.

"Indeed. MacLeod was furious at Cassandra for mutilating her, and banished her from his side."

"And Triona?"

Kronos looked at him with what Methos could only describe as regret. "She was damaged, scarred, displeasing to his eye. He gave her to Methos, no longer having any interest in her. Moving on to the next young pre-immortal in his stable."

Methos gripped the stem of his goblet, closing his eyes briefly as if in remembered pain. "And so she hates him."

"And so she hates him," Kronos agreed. Then came something totally unexpected. "Tell me, Methos, is your Triona at peace?"

Methos was startled by the question. But he realized how seriously it was meant. "She…" He shook his head, overwhelmed with memories both happy and sad. "Yes. Yes, she is at peace. She is loved, and she loves. And that love brings us both peace."


	8. Chapter 8

_Notes: finally, the next part! I hope that those of you following along are enjoying the story so far. Thanks so much for reading!  
_

* * *

Exhausted in body and spirit, Methos collapsed onto the bed in his tent. Up till now, he hadn't allowed himself to think that thought; the one that chilled him through: he might not be able to get back home. But he could no longer deny that very real possibility. Everything he held dear now depended on the mentally fragile woman who lay drugged and unconscious in Kronos' tent. That realization, when he'd allowed himself to acknowledge it, had been devastating.

He had watched as Kronos had carried her in, as he'd laid her carefully on his bed, running a medical scanner across her prone form before injecting her with the contents of yet another hypospray. It had been so eerily similar to Methos' own experience with Triona seven years ago that he was no longer able to watch the scene before him, turning away from what seemed like history repeating itself. Forcing back the memories of a time when he thought he'd lost Triona forever in the lab accident that had broken her mind.

Afterwards, Kronos had told him that it was sometimes days before she recovered from one of her breakdowns. And Methos had despaired, taking his leave, escaping to the solitude of his tent.

_"Fine, but if it blows up, I expect groveling for the next several centuries!"_ He heard his wife's voice from what was only hours before, and a universe away, say laughingly. He knew she'd try and find a way to bring him home. If she was able to -- were she even still alive. That dark thought hissed and whispered at him now that he was alone.

Methos drained the glass, refilling it from the pitcher at his side, the Romulan ale burning a trail through his gut like fire. No, she was still alive, _he_ wouldn't kill her. Now knowing some of the history between the Methos and Triona in this reality made him even surer of that. He would want her, and he would take her. After making sure she had learned the painful consequences of displeasing him first.

What his other self must have done to her in the intervening hours constricted his heart like a vice. If Methos had believed in fate, in karma, he would have believed this was his due for his past. What better punishment than to have the woman he loved tormented by the man he'd been? And what was she being punished for? For accepting his past and making a life with him? Or just for loving him?

But no, Methos didn't believe in such things. There was no god, no higher power that meted out punishment for one's sins. No, he didn't believe. Such beliefs had long been absent from his life. How else could he have stayed sane?

As he fell asleep, Methos laughed bitterly at this fate that had been laid out for them both.

* * *

Sometimes, Methos dreamed. And other times, he relived. And those relivings could cut to the quick of the soul….

_They had been riding all day, on their quest to find Silas. One more step in reuniting the Horsemen, fulfilling Kronos' dream. There had been a wariness, mixed with the memory of companionship, leaving Methos unsettled. Not that he'd felt at all settled since Kronos' dagger had plunged into his heart in Seacouver less than a week before. That oh so inevitable moment. That one that Methos had rarely let himself think about since leaving Kronos at the bottom of a well more than two thousand years before. But now, payment was due._

_They sat at the campfire, like they had so many thousands of time before. In some ways, it was if no time at all had passed. Then Kronos spoke, and his words froze Methos' heart._

_"Your woman made it safely back to Toronto then," Kronos said casually, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Before Methos could respond, he added, "I look forward to meeting her. Triona, that's her name, isn't it?" Then he looked Methos straight in the eye, with what almost might have been pity. "Private detectives are one of the more useful things about this age."_

_Methos' mind raced, refiguring plans and plots; the mental chess game he played with himself moving at light speed as he absorbed this newest information. Kronos knew about her. It was something he hadn't anticipated. The first thing he'd done on returning home after Kronos had come back into his life, before going to see MacLeod, had been to send her back home to Toronto, to safety. It was something Methos had counted on, something that had given him some small measure of calm in this maelstrom. But with those few words, Kronos had ripped that calm away like a scab from a wound._

_"Yes," was all he said, keeping his voice level. It was just one more variable in his plan. Or so he tried to convince himself._

_"Don't look so concerned, brother!" Kronos exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder. "She isn't spoils; she's your woman. Though I must admit, I'm surprised."_

_"Oh? And why would that be?" Methos fought for a nonchalant tone._

_"Why? Because you've had an aversion to Immortals sharing your bed since… what was her name? Parva! Yes, Parva, that was it," he replied, remembering. "Though I suppose this one isn't inclined to murder you in your sleep for your quickening?" He was practically chortling at Methos' expression of indignation._

_"That was nearly three thousand years ago!" Methos protested. "I misjudged the situation."_

_"Yes, 'misjudged'. That's one way to put it." Kronos poured more coffee into their mugs. "Fortunate for you I I /I didn't misjudge the situation, or we wouldn't be sitting here tonight, you and I."_

_"I believe I thanked you for that at the time," Methos said somewhat peevishly. "And no, there's no danger of that, since you were wondering. I've become more… discerning." He stared into the fire, hoping Kronos would drop the subject. But it wasn't to be._

_"Indeed you have," Kronos agreed with a speculative look. "I recall your tastes being more inclined to pleasure; simple women whose talents were more… carnal. Nothing to tax the mind -- theirs or yours. Now this woman of yours, this one will actually be useful. A talent for moving large sums of money without notice, and something of a scientist. I'm impressed, Methos!"_

_He didn't respond, tightening his jaw, fingers clenching the metal mug. Kronos knew far too much. And that was only what he'd revealed so far. Kronos being Kronos, there would be more revelations to come. All to make sure Methos knew who was in charge and that Kronos knew just exactly what he had to lose._

_Kronos continued, seemingly oblivious to the stonily silent man at his side, "There's always room for someone that adds something to the group. Well done indeed! "_

_"Oh, of course it's always about you, Kronos," he finally replied caustically._

_Kronos quirked a brow. "I'm glad that we agree, brother."_

Methos stirred in his sleep, grappling with the memories and waiting for a dawn that might never come.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you for your patience waiting for this next part. Writing this is a little outside my comfort zone and I hit a wall there for a while. Hopefully, I'm back on track now. I hope you're enjoying the story so far! _

_MotD _

* * *

He skimmed his fingertips up and down her left arm, as if remembering something – or someone. Despite herself, she tried to pull away, only to have her wrist pinned down at her side against the mattress. He looked at her with that self-satisfied smirk that she wished she could claw off his face. "Now, now," he remonstrated, "you've been such a good girl. Don't ruin it now."

Turning her face away, Triona squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the rage, the bloodlust, which threatened to overwhelm her. She had promised herself that she would do whatever it took to get Methos back, no matter what debasement his mirror self perpetrated, but it took every ounce of self control she'd ever had to bear what had happened, and what was to happen still.

His fingers bit into her chin, forcing her head back. "That's against the rules," his voice against her ear like a hiss. "No mental disciplines, no vampire tricks. I want the woman, all of you, here with me now."

Clenching her fists, she opened her eyes, putting every bit of loathing and hate into her gaze. He smiled down at her and the bile rose in her throat. Once more, his fingers trailed down her arm and back up again, lingering over her breast.

"I'd forgotten what you… what she," he corrected himself, "was like undamaged." He fell silent.

Triona had to ask. And besides, if he was talking to her, it bought her time, kept him from her. "Undamaged?" Cautiously, she sat up, pulling the bed sheet up around her as she did so. But he didn't seem to notice, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

"You know what happens when acid meets human flesh. Imagine what your arm—" he slid his hand down her shoulder to her wrist "—would look like after that."

Fighting back a shudder, she inched farther away. "Did you—"

"No!" He seemed angry that she'd think he was responsible. "MacLeod's witch, Cassandra, did the deed. But Triona blamed me nonetheless. I did what I could afterwards to heal the damage, but it wasn't enough." Surprisingly, there was regret in his voice. "She suffered her first death before there was ever the possibility of reconstructive surgery, so she bears the scars even now."

"Cassandra?" Triona whispered, mostly to herself. What sort of universe was it that this man came from?

"That surprises you?" He pulled her back against him, having finally noticed her slowly moving away.

"Yes." She forced herself to breathe slowly as he drew her closer, his fingers snaking into her hair, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"You're acquainted then?"

Triona did her best to divorce herself from his touch, to concentrate on the conversation. There could be some clue, some weakness to be revealed if only she asked the right questions. At least, that's what she told herself. Grasping at straws to keep the fear at bay. "We were friends, once upon a time." And they had been, when she had been Cate and she'd known Cassandra as Sage in the mid twenty-first century.

"And now?"

"Now? We exchange pleasantries at conferences, neither of us quite trusting the other."

He made a sound that might have been laughter or disgust. "Conferences! What a strange life you do lead on this side of the mirror."

"It isn't my reality that's the strange one," she bit out. "Your Cassandra is a monster!"

"Now, now! Would it make you feel better to know that she paid for the suffering she inflicted on your other self?" He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows. "Oh, she paid dearly indeed."

"What happened?" she asked, dreading the answer, but needing to know.

"You happened. So much hate and rage in such a tiny container." Methos was obviously enjoying himself, his voice awash with gleeful anticipation. "You see, Triona and I develop weapons. We're very good at it, artists some might even say. And Immortals make excellent test subjects, especially for some of the nastier biotoxins."

She began to get sick feeling in the pit of her stomach over where this story was leading, swallowing hard to keep that sickness at bay.

He continued, seemingly oblivious to her distress. "Cassandra had the misfortune of falling into our hands. Now Kronos would have been perfectly willing to cut a deal with her, but Triona wanted blood. So he made Cassandra a gift to his lover, and it was a gift Triona delighted in for nearly a year, before she took the witch's head. I'm sure, that for Cassandra, death was a blessing. Triona had been very… creative in the year she'd been our 'guest'."

A hiss of horror escaped her lips. Not just for what had happened, but that somehow, 'she' could be capable of such cruelty. "My god…" she began, but couldn't find the words. And then the words 'his lover' finally registered. Kronos? It was just one more emotional shock on top of all the others.

Laughing with a soft chill, he said, "You don't think you're capable of doing what Triona did, do you?" He looked down at her with glittering eyes, and she shrank back into the headboard, making an instinctive, though useless, move to escape. "You don't think that ten years of depravity and suffering that ended in a shower of acid would drive you to take your revenge when your tormentor fell into your hands?"

She just shook her head wordlessly. His hand wrapped around her throat, pushing her back down onto the bed, the grip not quite enough to restrict her breathing, but close. "You don't think you have that in you?" he whispered at her ear, the sound of his voice seeping into her senses like a miasma. "You and I both know that's a lie, little one, don't we? We both know that the darkness is your constant companion, one that you are never free to acknowledge, not to yourself, especially not to _him_."

"That's not true," she protested weakly, but in her heart, she knew she lied. And so did he. Memories she had tried so hard to forget over the passing centuries railed at her, demanding acknowledgment. This time, she couldn't stop the tears as his lips and hands roamed across her body.

"There, you see? I told you to save your tears for yourself, didn't I, Triona?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Nearing the finish line now! I think another three or four parts, and we'll have a completed story. Thanks so much for reading and commenting! Feedback really does inspire me, so know I do appreciate it!  
_

* * *

Triona paced the length of the lounge and back again. There was something, at the edge of her thoughts, which she knew would be the answer to sending 'him' away and getting Methos back. If only she had that spark, that _something_ that took one past normal intelligence to genius. If she had been a Leah Brahms or a Zephram Cochrane, she would have figured out the answer by now. But she wasn't, and each revelation, each leap, was accomplished with pure stubbornness and sheer will that was matched only by desperation.

'He' wasn't there; leaving her locked in the lounge while he saw to other things. Whatever those things were, she was just thankful he wasn't here with her now. His presence left her feeling sick and tainted, forestalling any chance she might have of what had passed between them, of her violation, to be pushed into a dark corner of her mind.

Somehow, he seemed to tap into her darkest fears and insecurities. She wished she could blame it all on Methos' journals, but she knew that wasn't all of it. No matter what she tried to tell herself, it had been almost impossible to totally ignore his insights into her soul. Even though she knew he was manipulating her, that it was something he was expert at, despite it all, he was breaking her down. Was the mentally broken Triona he knew so different from her? After all, hadn't she herself nearly lost her sanity seven years ago? Was madness inevitable?

Methos had brought her back from that darkness then. But he wasn't here now. She was alone. Truly alone for the first time in so many centuries that part of her didn't know if she could cope. The thing she couldn't acknowledge, the fear that whispered its poison, was that Methos was dead, or unable to ever return. But she couldn't let herself fall prey to that hopelessness. If she had no hope, there would never be any escape.

Dropping into the chair at the computer station, she buried her face in her hands. No, that was _him_ talking. He wanted her to doubt herself, to doubt those that loved her. She could do this. She had to – there was no one else.

Quantum equations and formulas battled with haphazard thoughts of her captor, creating a hellish mental picture. Fighting back despair, Triona forced herself to remember joys of the past. In her mind's eye, she conjured up that first glimpse of Methos, standing at the front door, looking like an encyclopedia salesman. Then the night that had followed, his warmth melting her frozen soul. Making her believe there was a future that wasn't doomed to darkness. He had been a light shining into the night. He was her hope and her love, and she couldn't fail him.

And a much more recent memory, the first time she'd held her daughter in her arms. Something she had never thought possible. For Lucia, she would do anything, fight any battle, move heaven and earth to protect her. The life of her mortal daughter was racing past so quickly and Triona had sworn to do whatever it took to make that life a happy one.

Then, out of grief and memory, that spark finally came. Her head snapped up, eyes shining with sudden knowledge as she furiously entered data into the computer. The seconds it took to reveal a result were like an eternity. But then, there it was -- the answer. Methos could come home, and her nightmare would end; their nightmare would end.

* * *

Time had passed nearly unnoticed as she lost herself in fine tuning the calculations, so she was actually startled at the sound of the lounge door opening. That surprise was quickly replaced by a jolt of fear and uncertainty as the twisted double of Methos entered the room. She held absolutely still as he ran a hand through her hair.

"You are single-minded," he observed softly, glancing at the monitor in front of her. "You probably didn't even miss me." She clenched her jaw, but made no other reaction to his taunting. The hand that had been stroking her hair now pulled her head back. "And that just won't do," he whispered as he took her lips with his, raising her out of the chair to pull her across the small room.

Then as abruptly as he'd taken her, he released her, pushing Triona back onto the couch before dropping into a chair across from her. His gaze upon her was like an oily caress. There was no real inkling to what he was thinking, and his silence unnerved her.

She took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the look in his eyes. "I know how to send you back," she finally said into the quiet. "There's still time, before the sun rises, if we leave now." She couldn't quite suppress the note of relief in her voice.

"Is that so?" There was still nothing to indicate what he might be feeling.

"Yes."

"Well done!" He sprawled in the chair as if he had been poured into it, his long legs extended out in front of him. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually. She, your double, probably has as well."

"There's nothing to stop you from going back home, not now." _Please, God, let it be over._

"I'm devastated that you're so eager to be rid of me, dearest! I thought we had something special, you and I." His mocking tone was accompanied by a cruelly amused grin.

Choking back a hiss of rage, she twisted at the folds of the scarlet silk dress she was once again wearing. "Is your life so empty that you have nothing better to do than to torment me?" she demanded, her fury demanding outlet. "You have galaxies to conquer and suffering to inflict! I'd have thought you'd be chomping at the bit to go back to your twisted, freakish reality!"

Methos pushed himself out of the chair; the careless posture of before replaced with a predatory grace as he crossed the small space between them. "I think you forget yourself, little one." He leaned over her, his eyes like cold jade. " _I _decide when this ends. You would do well to remember that."

Laughter grated out like sandpaper. "As if I could forget!"

Sinking down onto the cushioned seat, he pressed into her. "Oh, but I think you have forgotten. If you want me gone, and him back at your side, you need to convince me."

Triona couldn't stop herself from shivering as his hand ran up her thigh. It was like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Soon, she told herself. Soon, he would be gone. Just a little longer, just a little more humiliation, and it would all be over. It had to be over. She didn't know how much more she could take before she snapped, dooming Methos to an eternity in the hell of the mirror universe he was trapped in.

His lips slid along the line of her jaw, his breath hot against her face. "Convince me, Triona," he commanded, his voice not much more than a whisper as it wafted past her ear. "Please me, and you can have it all back; your heart's desire. You said you'd do anything to get him back. Now, you get to prove it."


	11. Chapter 11

Had you given up on me? I know it's been a while. But believe it or not I'd have written another part if I didn't have to go to bed! The Muse is cooperating! Thanks for all your patience. I appreciate it more than you know. And I hope you like this next part.

* * *

Methos sat on a ridge overlooking the alien device that had brought him to this hell. Would he ever make it back home? Doubt had begun to seep into every corner of his mind. He was used to being in control of whatever situation he found himself in, but this was different; here, he had absolutely none. Rarely in his life had he felt so powerless.

The first glimmers of sunrise had crept like fingers across the plain below. Soon, it would be light and the beginning of another day here in this false reality. He'd woken hours ago, unable to calm the tormented thoughts that plagued him. He'd tried meditation, but even that had proved useless. Finally, he had abandoned his tent for the sharp icy air of predawn and had walked with very little idea of where he was going. Then he had reached this place; a place that overlooked the very thing that had brought so much despair.

Picking up a rock, Methos hurled it away in angry frustration. Every new day on this side of the mirror increased the chances that he would never get home. And if he did get home? No, _when_ he got home. When he got home there would be no more researching mysterious dead alien cultures and their artifacts. That he swore. Curiosity killed the cat indeed!

Just for a moment, the deep current of all his years pulled at him. A half recalled fragment of him looking up at the stars from a time so long ago that any memories were more like half-remembered dreams. How had he gone from that place to this? Surely that youth he'd been could have never imagined the possibilities, the sorrows and regrets, and yes, the joys, that the future would bring. And if he had? Would he have had the courage to face what was to come to get to the man he was now? To the life and the loves that had made him what he was?

Methos rarely dwelled on all the long ages he had lived. He'd said once that he was just a guy; and that was true. It had to be true or he would have surely gone mad. But there were moments, like this, when the reality of those years was undeniable. And the weight of them threatened to overwhelm his sense of place in this time and space.

Further introspection was interrupted by the warning sensation of another Immortal, soon followed by the booming echo of Silas' voice on the morning breeze. "Methos! There you are!" Coming up to him, Silas slapped him on the back before dropping down to sit next to him.

Despite everything, Methos couldn't stop a smile. The presence of the large Immortal had been the one bright spot during this whole experience. "Silas." He nodded a greeting.

"I thought I might find you here," Silas said. "He likes this spot." He noticed the clench of Methos' jaw at that observation. "You are very different from our Methos," he added.

"That's something, I suppose," Methos murmured in reply. He looked up at Silas, an idea suddenly forming. "You're fond of Triona."

Silas beamed. "She's my little sister. I look out for her and she teaches me things. I make her laugh."

Methos nodded. "How would you like to do something for her no one else can?"

"What can I do?" Silas asked, perplexed.

"Her hand," he explained. "You could help her make it stronger. I can teach you exercises that you could in turn show her."

Silas looked thoughtful. "It upsets her. The scars always remind her."

"Yes. But if she had more control of her hand, her grip, perhaps the memories would trouble her less."

Nodding, Silas agreed. "I could do that. I would like to help."

Several hours passed as Methos taught Silas the exercises that would help Triona. He felt a sense of satisfaction; at least he'd accomplished something of worth here. "You're a good student, Silas!" he said, patting his arm.

"That's what she says."

"She's right."

The men fell into a companionable silence; each lost in their own thoughts. Then, Methos could feel the other man's gaze upon him. Finally, Silas said into the silence, "She's your woman where you're from."

"Yes, she is. Triona is my wife."

"And you care for her?"

"Yes, very much." Methos wondered where Silas was going with this.

"That's good." Then he said, "Kronos cares for her, you know."

"I know he does."

"Methos never understood," Silas said quietly. "Never understood why she turned to Kronos."

Methos looked over at Silas, needing to know why, but afraid of breaking the spell should he ask. Finally, Silas met his eyes, and Methos was surprised at the sadness he saw there.

Silas seemed to be trying to decide if he should continue. Then he sighed, the sound like a bellows. "When he looks at Triona, Kronos never sees the scars. And Methos… the scars are all that he sees."

Methos had no answer for that.

* * *

Methos and Silas made their way back to the encampment; both men wrapped up in their own memories. It was only the approach of another Immortal that drew them from wherever their thoughts had wandered.

"I thought I'd have to send out a search party," Kronos chided.

Methos looked up at the sun, suddenly realizing how long he'd been gone. "Sorry. I lost track of the time." _Isn't that the truth in more ways than one?_

"Yes, well no matter! I only thought you'd like to know that Triona is well, and thinks she has figured out how to send you home." Kronos smirked. "Assuming of course that's what you still want?"

"I do!" Methos was unable to contain his joy at Kronos' news. "While this has been fun, it's time for me to take my leave," he said wryly.

"I thought as much." Kronos gripped Methos' upper arm companionably. "This has been one of the more unique experiences in my life, I'll admit."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Who knows? We may meet again one day, perhaps in the reality that you're so fond of."

"Perhaps. One never knows what the future holds," Methos replied quietly.

"Who indeed, old friend. Who indeed?"

"Come! Triona has a few more details to work out, so we have time for a parting toast, yes?"

"Yes!" Methos couldn't help but laugh. Beyond all hope, he was going home!


	12. Chapter 12

_Go me! Two parts posted this week. The muse is being very cooperative, albeit scary, but whatever works. I hope you enjoy it, and in case you were wondering, yes, we're finally reaching the end. Only a few more parts to go. I appreciate you sticking with me this far, so thank you._

* * *

Triona pressed up against the bulkhead at the very edge of the bed, while the man who wore her husband's face poured dark amber liquid into a glass. She was surprised when he reached across the bed to hand the glass to her.

As if enjoying some private joke, he explained, "You look like you could use a drink."

Not arguing, she took a gulp of the contents. _Saurian Brandy._ The fiery liquid scorched her insides like molten glass. She'd never liked the stuff, but even the temporary effects of the potent alcohol were better than nothing. Taking another swallow, she closed her eyes, feeling the heat crawl up her belly into her throat. Bringing the glass back to her lips, she realized with some surprise that it was already empty.

As she looked down at the empty glass in her hand, he sat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand. "More?" Not waiting for a response, he refilled the glass.

This time, she sipped. He trailed a finger down across her cheek before getting up and walking to the small table across from the bed, setting down the bottle. But instead of coming back, he sat down on the chair across from her.

Triona was absurdly thankful for the robe he'd given her to wear, even though she knew it was all part of the process of breaking her down. Make her grateful for the smallest kindnesses, while instilling fear of pain and punishment for any transgressions. Keeping her constantly on the edge of fear and uncertainty. She took another drink. _Stockholm Syndrome,_ a little voice whispered in warning. No, it was too soon for that. Wasn't it? Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her thoughts. It was just exhaustion and trauma. That was all it was. The thought of feeling dependent on Ihim/I made her ill. She just needed to keep it together a little longer.

His voice, surprisingly gentle, interrupted her uneasy thoughts. "Tell me what it's like."

Shaking her head, she looked over at him in confusion. "What?"

"Feeding on the blood of another human. What is it like?" He looked at her intently.

"It's…" Triona blinked several times, trying to understand what he was asking; why he was asking. But rational thought seemed to elude her.

"Is it like a quickening?" he asked, his voice still soft but full of curiosity.

She tried again. "It's better; so much better. You drown in feeling, in emotion, in life." Triona sighed softly, remembering. "There is nothing that equals it."

"But for you, there has to be a quickening to trigger the vampire that dwells in you."

Old anger and bitterness welled up at his words, clearing her head for a moment. "Yes! I'm a mistake -- a freak of nature! Is that what you wanted to hear?" She took another gulp of the brandy, absently wondering why on earth she had revealed something so intensely personal to a man she hated.

"Freak?" Now he was sitting next to her, stroking her hair. "On the contrary, Triona. Is that what he's made you think of yourself? Nothing," he leaned in to kiss her, "could be further from the truth."

"That's not true," she whispered, closing her eyes, trying to stop the spinning in her head. iAlcohol on an empty stomach/i. Yes, that's what it was.

"Isn't it?" His voice drew her away from the uncertainty and doubt. "Have you ever given him anything but pleasure when you've fed from him? Haven't you always shared your very essence with him?"

"Yes…" Then she shook her head. "No... It's not that simple," she protested.

"Ah, little one." His voice was heavy with regret. "If only you could see the possibilities your nature offers outside the constraints he's placed upon you. If you could only experience the freedom!"

Triona remembered what it felt like; Methos' blood singing in her veins, in her soul. The pure pleasure that both of them had shared in those very rare instances. It was during those moments she felt whole, at one with herself and with him. But for too many years, she'd carried so much guilt and regret about her nature that it was hard to remember it wasn't always an evil.

"The power of death itself," he said softly, as if sharing a secret. "How could he not want to embrace that?"

This was wrong. Triona struggled against the hypnotic voice at her ear, trying to grasp the frayed edges of her self. Then her eyes fell on the glass she still held in her hand, and a cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. _Drugged_. "No," she panted, dropping it. The remains of the brandy spilled, splashing across the bed, the scent of it choking her. "No!" There was a part of her that tried to fight, to pull away, but whatever he'd given her had sapped her will, and all that was left was the knowledge that she was totally helpless.

He grasped her chin, tilting her head up to search her eyes. "Yes, I think that's done it," he said to himself. "Don't want to give you too much. You're no good to me unconscious, after all." He pushed her hair back from her face. "Don't fret, Triona. Think of it as a compliment. You're far too dangerous for me not to take… precautions."

"Precautions?" she repeated,

"Until now, you've had reason to behave. But our relationship has reached a point where that's no longer true. I need to make sure you remain compliant."

"I don't understand." A fog had once more settled over her thoughts. She tried to focus, to fight the effect of the drug he'd given her.

"Don't bother, little one. You can't overcome it. In fact, the effects will only get stronger as it works through your bloodstream."

"But why?" Her voice sounded very far away to her own ears.

"Why? Haven't you figured it out yet? But no, of course you wouldn't have – not quite yourself, are you?" Chuckling at his own wit, he stood, looming over her like a specter. The words from his lips fell like a sword of doom. "You see, I won't be going back, and you're going to tell me everything I need to know to slip into your universe; into his life."

Though sheer terror washed over her, it had no outlet. It was as trapped in her mind as she was. Triona could feel the inexorable march of the drug as each moment passed. "No, I won't." She was barely even able to form the words of her defiance, but somehow, she got them out.

"Now, Triona, haven't you learned the consequences of disobedience yet? I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you persist in being uncooperative."

"No!" she hissed. Triona knew without a doubt that if this mirror version of Methos were to get close to her family and friends, death would follow.

"You are the stubborn one." He sighed with mock sadness. "The drug I gave you is just a primer, you might say; a base to build upon." Walking back to the table where he'd left the brandy, he reached into a bag, pulling out a hypospray. Turning back to her, he continued. "This is my masterpiece, if I can be so immodest. The first drug can be disseminated in the water supply, or in food rations. It's very useful in subduing slaves, or quelling rebellious inclinations in conquered territories. But this," he waved the hypospray, "this is what makes it special."

Leaning over, he grabbed her, pulling her to him before injecting the drug into her arm. "It attaches itself to the first drug, modifying it. Then, it affects the neural receptors. It enhances both pleasure and pain."

He watched with clinical detachment as she fell back onto the bed, overcome by the drug's assault on her central nervous system. "But you and I both know that it's pain we're interested in today, don't we?"

"I won't help you," she choked out.

"You will." His voice was cold as stone. "It may take some time, but everyone can be broken; even you. You can be courageous and defy me, but in the end, it will be for nothing, because you will suffer, and then, you will submit."

He pulled a knife from his boot. "One last chance, little one." She didn't answer, just turned her head away. "In that case, shall we begin?"


	13. Chapter 13

Curled on the bed like an abandoned cat, Triona struggled to maintain her sense of self

Curled on the bed like an abandoned cat, Triona struggled to maintain her sense of self. It was a fight made all the more difficult by the fact that the last thing she wanted to do was remember what had happened here. When what she really wanted was to flee to some safe corner of her mind where there was no more pain, no more terror. She knew she must have told him everything he wanted to know -- in the end. Just like he'd said she would. Just as he'd promised she would. But Triona had no real memory of the details of her weakness, of her failure. The only thing she really remembered was the never-ending pain. And her screams; she remembered those all too well.

After it was done, he had left her, so certain of his drug, and her submission, that he hadn't even bothered to restrain her. The second drug had burned its way out of her body, leaving only the first, the one that kept her mentally shackled, unable to physically rebel. A burst of rage shimmered before her; if she had been a true vampire, she would have ripped out his throat, and his blood would have bathed her wrath.

The door swooshed open, and he was back. Sick fear once again skittered across every nerve. Lying down next to her, he stroked her naked body. "See how much easier it is when you don't resist, little one? Perhaps I'll reward you with another dose, and we can explore pleasure instead of pain. Would you like that?"

Triona choked back a sob, curling into an even tighter ball.

"Shhhh…" His hands stilled. "One day, you'll be eager for my attentions. After you've been alone here on this planet for a few years, I know you'll come to appreciate my company; look forward to it, in fact."

Her gasp of surprise seemed to amuse him, and he chuckled, his hands once more stroking her like a pet. "Did you think I was going to kill you? That would be a waste. No, I've found a lovely spot on an island several thousand miles from here that will suit you nicely till I return. I don't think it would be wise to leave you within meddling distance of the artifact," he said wryly.

Kissing her cheek, he sat up, drawing her with him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now you need to eat something. I know you must be hungry." She just looked at him with empty eyes.

Getting up, he walked over to the cabin's replicator. Triona looked around the room that was her prison, a jolt of unexpected hope stabbing into her when she saw his knife lying abandoned on the table across from her; the knife that had inflicted so much agony. Was it another trap? No, it was overconfidence. Or at least, that was what she had to believe to have the courage to act. But the drug he'd given her still kept her docile. Could she overcome it, even for a moment? Quickly, she dropped her eyes as he turned back to her, a plate of food in his hand.

Handing it to her, he ordered her to eat. Obeying, she picked up a piece of bread, taking a small bite. It was like choking down sand. Head bowed, her eyes kept sight of the knife from beneath her lashes, mentally gathering herself to make one last attempt to free herself.

Then he was talking again, leaning nonchalantly against the very table that held her hope. "Your daughter is very beautiful. So young -- so mortal."

Triona's heart froze as she gripped the plate in her hands.

"She'll be devastated by your ideath/i, I'm sure. But I promise you that I'll do my best to comfort her." This was said with a wolfish reassurance. Now he was smiling a smile that was all teeth. "Perhaps I'll bring Lucia here to be with you." His voice dropped to a chilled whisper. "Just what would you be willing to do to please me then, I wonder?

As he spoke, the shimmer of rage from before became a searing flame. He had to die. Even though that meant sentencing Methos to an eternity in the mirror universe. She had to protect her daughter, the very best thing that existed from Triona's four centuries. For Lucia, she would suffer anything; she would not let this creature from the other side of the mirror touch her!

His voice droned on, but Triona was no longer listening. Every ounce of her will was focussed on breaking the hold the drug held over her. Shifting the plate in her grip, she flung it at his head like a discus. Not waiting to see if it hit its target, she launched herself at the knife, hearing the sound of impact, and his grunt of pain as her fingers grasped the knife hilt. Hitting the floor with the knife in hand, she rolled away. On her back, knees bent, she slammed her feet into his ribs as he launched himself at her. There was blood on his temple where the plate had caught him. As her feet made impact, she was rewarded with the sound of snapping bone.

The other Methos howled in outrage as he fell back in pain, and Triona felt a surge of triumph. He came at her again, this time, her elbow smashing into his sternum and then carrying through with the knife to slash at his throat. Her victory was short lived though. Weakened by drugs and torture, it wasn't long before her assailant gained the upper hand. His fist caught her across the jaw, throwing her back, his booted foot slamming down onto the wrist that held the knife.

His knee planted on her chest, he held the knife to her throat. "You are a fool!" he panted. "I have given you every chance, every consideration, and still you defy me!" He was in rage, like he had been when he'd thrown her into the sun.

She screamed as he plunged the knife into her heart. As she died, she heard him say, "We'll see how brave you are after the sun rises."

* * *

Kronos handed Methos a glass of red wine. "From our own vineyards," he said.

Methos took a sip of the wine, the flavour and the scent dragging him back to his own reality like nothing else had. This was _their_ wine. Wine from the vines he and Triona had planted on Imladris when the colony was new. He felt a pang of homesickness but pushed it away. Soon, he would taste this wine again – on his own side of the mirror.

Kronos raised his glass. "To home."

"To home," Methos and Silas repeated.

They were silent for a time while they drank.

Then Methos looked at Kronos. "When he comes back, stop him. Don't let him constantly undermine her."

Kronos looked down into the depths of his glass. "Perhaps things can change," he admitted.

He stepped closer, gripping Kronos' arm. "Choose her first, for once." From centuries in the past he heard Triona's voice,_ "Just this once, choose me first._" He hadn't, and they had both paid; in grief and in blood, they had paid.

Kronos only nodded. Then he set his glass down and opened a small chest nearby. He removed a velvet wrapped object. "Here," he said, handing it to Methos.

Setting his own glass down, Methos unrolled the velvet to find a delicately wrought boot knife. Its blade was like a wave of iridescent silver ending in a viscously sharp point. He looked up at Kronos, a question in his eyes.

"For her, your wife," he explained. "I had it made for Triona, but now…. I'd like your woman to have it."

Nodding, Methos wrapped the wicked blade back it its velvet shroud. "Thank you." He placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

The approaching presence of another Immortal interrupted them; a presence that was soon revealed in the tent entrance. "It's time," Triona told Kronos, very carefully avoiding looking at Methos.

"Shall we?" Kronos asked.

* * *

A few minutes later, the group found themselves at the ancient artifact.

"How does it work?" Methos asked.

Triona considered his question a moment before replying waspishly, "Does it really matter? You wouldn't understand it anyway."

Despite everything, Methos started to laugh, followed by Kronos and Silas. Triona just gave them a look, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for them to stop. "If you've gotten it out of your systems?" she said pointedly, though Methos was sure he caught a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Kronos took her face between his hands, kissing her. "My favourite rocket scientist."

This time, the smile was fully formed. "I'd better be," she replied softly. Taking his hand, she squeezed it, before turning her attention back to Methos. "Go to the artifact, and touch it just like you did before. If your doppelganger is on the other side, within the set parameters of the quantum transfer algorithms, then you'll be home."

"And if he's not?" Methos asked, not sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

Triona shook her head, her silence speaking volumes.

* * *

Hours later, Triona regained consciousness in the dark cabin. Her tormenter was asleep on the bed, and she was where he'd left her, on the floor, bound hand and foot, in a corner of the cabin. She had recovered from the stab wound through her heart to a still enraged Methos. He had then pumped several hypospray's worth of his drugs into her, threatening her with the sun at the dawn.

"Do you think your mind will survive the burning this time, little one?" The cool heat of the hypospray hissed against her skin. "Maybe if you beg nicely, I won't toss you out of the hatch after all."

And she'd despaired. She would beg. She would do _anything_ not to burn in the sun again. That had been her last thought as the drugs pulled her down into blessed darkness. But now, she was conscious, wishing to God she weren't; lying in a congealed pool of her own blood, the smell of it sickening her. For the first time, she believed that there would be no escape -- none at all. From the beginning, though every violation and humiliation, through the pain and degradation, she'd held out hope. But that hope was now gone. She had failed Methos, failed Lucia, her family, and her friends. Tears of loss and grief etched a path down her blood-spattered cheeks. How long did she have before he awoke to begin it all over again?

Exhaustion, pain, and terror lulled her into a fitful sleep. But that sleep was interrupted by a presence. At first, she thought she was dreaming. Only her desperate need creating hallucinations for her to cling to. Triona forced herself to calm, reaching out with her mind. Oh, God, it was him! Choking back a sob, she waited. Then she heard his voice in her mind… "_Be strong just a little longer, ma petite précieuse._"

There was a shift in pressure, and then he was there. She couldn't see with her eyes, but such things weren't necessary for them. Triona felt his rage, his bloodlust. As he drained her tormenter, LaCroix shared all with her. What she was unable to do herself, she was able to vicariously experience through her Master. Then came the sound of bone snapping and the thud of a body dropping.

She was free.


	14. Chapter 14

_Sorry this part took so long, but it was kicking my patootie! Damn stubborn muses! But finally, here it is. Thank you for you continuing patience. It's not the last part, but I think there's at most one, maybe two before the end. Despite that, I think everyone will be happy at the end of this part :)_

* * *

Lucien LaCroix gently undid her bonds, the ancient Roman vampire handling her like she was the most delicate porcelain. All the while, he murmured endearments in French and Latin until she was finally free. As he gathered her in his arms, she began to sob, her body heaving.

"So much blood," he whispered.

Taking a shuddering breath, Triona willed herself to calm. She was safe now, and soon, Methos would be home. Everything would go back to as it was.

Managing a whisper, she warned, "Careful. Drugs. Don't know what they'd do to you."

"I know, child," he replied softly. He then tapped at a communication device pinned to his tunic. Soon after, the whine of a transporter filled the air, followed by the presence of those Immortal.

The ancient Roman vampire lifted his child into strong safe arms. "All will be well now." His voice, along with his mental reassurance, attempted to comfort her.

The door whooshed open, revealing the familiar form of Duncan MacLeod. The man took in the scene before him, only the tightening of his mouth revealing any sign of his anger. "Triona, sweetheart, it'll be okay now, I promise you," he told her gently.

Struggling against LaCroix's hold, he relented, placing her on her feet, but still holding her close. Duncan snagged a blanket from the bed, covering her with it. "_He_ has to live," she told them. "It's the only way for Methos to come home." When neither man immediately replied, she insisted, "Promise me!"

The two men looked at each other, nodding. "It will be as you say," LaCroix finally replied. "And now, we need to get you cleaned up and medical attention."

She shook her head. "No," she said faintly. "No time. I need to set up the transfer."

"All will be done," her Master assured her. "T'Rayla is here, already going over your calculations."

Triona pulled the blanket tighter around herself, drawing away from LaCroix. "Good." T'Rayla, daughter of Spock, had been Triona's ward as a child, but now the young Vulcan was a woman grown, a brilliant scientist in her own right. "He," she jutted her chin at the still dead Methos, "needs to be restrained and in the brig. He's very dangerous. You have to believe me!" Her voice rose in a near note of hysteria.

"Of course we believe you, Trie," Duncan replied comfortingly. "I'll take care of it, trust me. Just let Lucien take you out of this place. Please," the last was said with a note of pleading.

Nodding sharply, she blinked. "Yes, all right."

"Then it is settled. " LaCroix took her elbow in a gentle hold. "Duncan will take care of matters here while you are seen to. Agreed?"

Suddenly, she sagged against him. "Yes…. Please take me away from him." As she fainted, LaCroix scooped her up before she hit the ground.

* * *

A short while later, Triona stared at herself in the mirror of their cabin. This place was untainted by her tormentor. He hadn't wanted to risk any weapons that she or Methos might have secreted throughout out the room. _He would have been right_, she thought with no humour as she reached behind the headboard, her hand coming to rest on the wicked knife that was placed there. Pulling it out, she slipped it into her boot.

"He'll revive soon," she said into the dim confines of the room.

"And there is no reason for you to be there when he does," LaCroix said from the chair he sat in across the room from her.

She turned to face him. Having bathed, with fresh clothes, her hair bound tightly on the top of her head, she presented a picture of absolute control and calm. But it was an image that was only surface deep. Sharply, she shook her head. "No! I need to see this through. If I don't, then he wins."

"That is not true," he objected. "But we will do this your way – for now."

Nodding, her eyes spoke her thanks. But what she said was, "I need to go to the lab. Find the drugs he used. Without a lever, he won't cooperate when it comes down to it."

_LaCroix's_ eyes spoke to exactly what he would do to make the other Methos cooperate, but he didn't voice that promise. But, "Very well, my love," was all he said as he followed her from the cabin.

* * *

In the small but well equipped lab of the Alqualondë, Triona found what she had been looking for -- the remainder of the drugs that the mirror universe Methos had used to such devastating effect. With these in his system, he would have no choice but to cooperate.

As she stared at the vials, she said, "I didn't think Jacob would understand the message I'd given to Stephanie," she admitted. "I'd given up."

"It is understandable," LaCroix told her quietly.

"Is it?" she clenched her fists. "I broke. In the end. I was weak." The last was said with enough despair to wrench at her Master's heart.

You know that is not so, _mon amour_," LaCroix remonstrated. "You are immortal, not inhuman."

Her laughter held a harsh edge. "Is that what you believe? I don't think I remember what it's like to be human."

His hands came to rest on her shoulders. "You hold what is best of our humanity in your heart, _le plus cheri_. As you have always done. Never doubt that." He leaned down brushing her cheek with cool lips. "I do not."

Triona turned, leaning into him. "You always are so certain, Lucien. Of me, of us; you have been certain from that first moment we met."

"It was merely inevitable, my love."

"Was it?"

"I believe it was so."

"And Methos? Will he accept that inevitability? What happened here may be more than he will be able to accept."

"Do you trust him so little?" LaCroix asked with just a hint of censure.

She looked up at him, startled. "No, of course not, but—"

"But? No, my love; if you trust Methos, if you love him, then there are no buts. You owe him your trust as well, no?"

Being LaCroix, she knew he wouldn't let her not answer his question. And that expectation oddly comforted her. He accepted everything she was, and always had, and he demanded the same from her -- for herself and for Methos. "Yes," was all she said, but that one word was full of certainty.

Nodding, he kissed her forehead. "All will be well, child, I promise you."

* * *

The long night was nearly over. T'Rayla had set up a forceshield over the alien device, and all that remained was the appearance of the other Methos to initiate the transfer.

He had revived an hour before and had quickly been injected with the drugs he'd used on Triona, and had been unable to fight the effects any more than she had. It was a bitter victory for her as she watched from a security monitor in her cabin. Neither LaCroix nor Duncan would permit her to be anywhere near her former captor, and with those same drugs still in her system, she hadn't put up much of a fight at their decision. How much of her acquiescence was the drugs, and how much was her, she wasn't sure.

So instead, she sat; watching him, needing the reassurance of seeing him locked up and neutralized to feel safe. Then he looked straight up at the camera in his cell, with a smile so self-satisfied it was all Triona could do not to smash her fist into the screen. "Don't pine for me, little one. We'll meet again, you and I, I promise you." Then he laughed, and the sound made every hair on her body stand on end. "And you know I always keep my promises." The screen went dark.

A few minutes later, Duncan arrived, to find her sitting frozen, staring at the dark screen. "Don't, Trie, don't!" He wrapped his arms around her. "He's toying with you. He can't come back, you know that."

"Do I?" she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the black square in front of her.

He sighed, turning her chair around to face him. "Thinking that is what he wants, sweetheart. He wants, he ineeds/i, to have a lasting power over you. You can't let him. In a little while, Methos will be back, and he'll be gone."

"And what if Methos doesn't come back?" she asked in a choked sob. "We don't know he will, or if he's even still alive!" All her fear and grief welled up in an undeniable wave, and Duncan drew his sobbing friend into his arms, rocking her like she was a child.

"It's going to be okay," he repeated over and over.

Against his chest, Triona shook her head, whispering, "I don't think it's ever going to be okay again."

* * *

It was time. Triona stood with LaCroix and Duncan outside the ring of the forceshield as Imladrin security forces placed their prisoner before the alien artifact. The team withdrew, and T'Rayla initiated the forcefield. The false Methos didn't even seem to care at this point. He looked up at Triona with a lazy smile and then placed his hands in the same place Methos had mere days before.

It happened so fast, Triona wasn't even sure the transfer had taken place, but them the familiar mental warmth of her husband suffused her consciousness. The overwhelming emotions nearly drove her to her knees, only Duncan and LaCroix holding her arms keeping her from falling to the ground.

Then he was running across the short expanse that separated them, lifting her into his arms and spinning her around until she was breathless. Methos sat her back onto her feet, looking into her eyes with a warmth and love that infused her with hope and joy. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you more," she replied with a tremulous smile. Then she was kissing him, and for a moment there was no fear, no pain, no doubt. Methos was home.


	15. Chapter 15

_Now we start dealing with the fallout, and along the way I get to reintroduce you to several of my favourite original characters. I hope you enjoy this part of the story!_

* * *

The group had transported up to the _Scotia_ just before the dawn; Triona not wanting to set foot in the Alqualondë again. In the brightly-lit transporter room, Methos was finally able to get a good look at his wife, and what he saw shocked him. Even though he'd tried to prepare himself for what he would find when he made it back home, the reality of it hit him hard. It was as if she were collapsing in on herself, her posture huddled and defeated. There was an unhealthy pallor to her skin, and with her hair pulled back so tightly, her dark eyes dominated her face, flat and exhausted, the pupils dilated.

Without thinking, he reached for her. Frightened by the sudden movement, Triona fell back against LaCroix. But when she realized what she'd done, she started to cry. "I'm sorry," she said over and over. Then she was leaning into his chest, sobbing as if she would never stop.

"It's okay," Methos whispered, putting his arms around her. "It's going to be okay." He could feel her distress through their blood bond, and that, added to her physical reaction, twisted at his heart.

"I didn't mean to--"

"Shhhh... It doesn't matter." He stroked her back soothingly.

"I don't... I can't..." She took a shuddering breath. "The drugs..." Her voice faded away and she pressed closer to Methos.

Methos looked at LaCroix and Duncan, the question obvious in his eyes. The vampire explained in cool and measured tones. But anyone who knew him would know that beneath the coolness was extreme concern and tightly controlled rage.

This time, Methos placed gentle hands at either side of Triona's face, giving her time to take in his touch, before lifting her face to look into her eyes. "Have you been seen by a doctor yet?"

"No." She shook her head. "I just wanted you home. It's not like the drugs won't wear off eventually."

"While that's true," he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, "it would make me feel better if a doctor took a look at you. Give you something to clear the drugs from your system. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed with barely any emotion. "But can't you do it?"

"Are you sure--" he began, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, please." She reached up, pressing her lips against his, before pulling away and dropping her eyes. "Please, Methos. I don't... I don't want strangers touching me."

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, all he said was, "Right, then let's get you to sickbay."

* * *

Methos examined the results displayed on the monitor above the medical scanning bed Triona lay on. The drug that lingered in her bloodstream was insidious, not to mention breathtaking in all its malevolent brilliance. Definitely something that would bear further study in the future. Then he turned his attention to the second set of results that were scrolling up onto the adjacent monitor. Very carefully keeping his expression neutral, he allowed no sign of the sick despair he felt to show. The only visible sign of his distress was an almost imperceptible tightening of his eyes.

Medical science of the twenty-fourth century could scan a patient down to the micro-cellular level, and at that level, the injuries of an immortal could be traced via the residual remnants of the energy released when they healed for months after the injury occurred. Triona's scan results were a brutal and heartbreaking map of what she had suffered during her captivity.

Jotting down instructions on a datapad, he handed it to the nurse standing next to him who had a similarly neutral expression on her face. He took a breath, then said in a light tone, "You're very dehydrated, love, so Daria here is going to see that you get some fluids, plus something to help clear the drugs out of your system. It should speed up the process by several hours."

"Uh huh," she replied, managing a tired smile. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it. "Don't worry about me, everything's going to be okay now."

He returned the smile. "Of course it is." Kissing her cheek, he said, "I'm going to go fill Lucien in. Will you be all right by yourself for a bit?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him.

"I'll be back soon," he promised.

* * *

Methos entered the waiting room where LaCroix, Duncan, and Jacob Tanimura waited. As the door closed, he whirled, slamming his fist into the bulkhead with an inarticulate growl of rage. Squeezing his eyes shut, he could visualize all too well the web of injures on the scan into reality. LaCroix's cool hand came to rest on his shoulder, saying nothing, sharing Methos' grief.

Duncan now stood at his side, gripping Methos' upper arm. "She's going to be fine, Methos. Triona's strong and she's surrounded by love."

Shaking his head, shoulders slumped, tears slid down Methos' face. Duncan put his arm around Methos' shoulders, drawing him closer, his own eyes becoming bright with tears. "We'll get her through this," he whispered. "We'll get both of you through this, Methos."

The oppressive blanket of emotion that lay over the room was suffocating.

"I can't go back in there yet," Methos finally admitted.

"I'll go sit with her for awhile," Jacob offered.

"Thank you," LaCroix said with gratitude.

Taking one last look at the tableau before him, Jacob squared his shoulders, leaving the three men to their grief.

* * *

Jacob Tanimura had been a United States Marine serving in Afghanistan when he'd met his first death in 2008. A piece of shrapnel from an IED had pierced the back of his head, killing him instantly. But when he'd revived, Jacob had had no idea he'd died; he thought he'd only been knocked out, and had made his way back to his unit. Several weeks later, he'd met Connor MacLeod, who had been working for an NGO, on a Kabul street. That was when Jacob had found out what he was, and in the process had gained a teacher and a friend. A few years later, he'd met Triona for the first time, and the two had shared an instant rapport. They were of a similar age, and background, both grappling with what it meant to be immortal. Over the centuries, they'd become close friends and eventually, family.

He took the hand she extended, sitting on the stool next to her bed. "I thought I'd keep you company for a while," he said with a smile.

"Methos—" she began.

"He'll back soon," he reassured her. Jacob knew that Methos needed time to deal with what had happened to Triona. He could imagine all to well what he'd be feeling if it had been his own wife who had suffered what his friend had. This was bad enough. If it had been Arianna… Jacob shook that thought off.

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "Thank you, Jacob. Thank you for understanding my message and coming for me."

Jacob currently served as Triona's military attaché in her position as Imladrin Defense Minister. When Stephanie had given him Triona's message about moving her meeting with the Romulan legate, alarm bells had gone off. "I knew you'd seen Trayvan only a few weeks ago and had nothing formally scheduled."

"You understanding was my one and only hope," she whispered. Then she said, quite unexpectedly, "I'm sorry, Jacob. This was all my fault."

He looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

"You wanted me to take a security detail, and I refused." Turning her head away, she whispered, "I just wanted to spend some time alone with Methos, just be two normal people." Her voice was full of self-recrimination. "I never thought… How could I have been so stupid?"

"I won't let you blame yourself for this. It is not your fault!"

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not! It anyone's to blame, it's me. I failed you. I should have gone over your head, gone to Methos or LaCroix, but I let sentiment get in the way of my duty!"

Triona shook her head. "It isn't your job to protect me from my own stupidity!"

Whatever he might have said in response was interrupted by a new arrival. "Even being in sickbay doesn't stop the two of you from arguing," a smoky female voice said wryly. Arianna Arnisen put a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder. "I would have been here sooner," she explained, "but I got held up on the bridge."

"An admiral's work is never done," Triona observed with a genuine smile for her kinswoman.

"How true." Jacob smiled at his wife fondly.

She dropped a kiss on the top of his head before turning her attention to Triona. "Lucien will be here soon," Arianna assured her. "Jacob and I will stay with you till he gets here."

Arianna Arnisen, besides being Fleet Admiral for the Imladrin Planetary Union, was a member of Triona's family -- a 'great-granddaughter' of Lucien LaCroix. She and Jacob had married not long after the founding of the Imladrin colony in 2163, one of a number of Vampire/Immortal pairings that had formed during and after WWIII.

"Thank you. I feel… anxious without them here. I don't want to be alone yet," she admitted.

"We'll stay as long as you need us," Jacob promised her.

"We will," Arianna agreed. Leaning into her husband, she stroked his cheek with one hand, while covering Triona's hand with the other. "How are you feeling, Trie?" she asked with concern.

She sighed, the sound a mixture of grief and relief, before saying, "Grateful; so very grateful for all of you. The love of my family has been a light that he could never extinguish."


	16. Chapter 16

Duncan entered the darkened medical cubicle, only the soft sounds of whirring machinery and the nearly subliminal hum of the ship's engines to be heard. Triona had always told him that each ship had its own sound, as distinctive as a fingerprint. But he'd never been able to discern that difference. Recalling that now made him close his eyes for a moment, remembering happier times.

Once upon a time, Triona had been the mystery woman that Methos had brought to Seacouver in the latter years of the twentieth century. As the decades passed, she'd become Duncan's friend, his student, Methos' wife, and the mother of his beloved godchild, Lucia. Like Amanda, Joe, and Methos, she had become part of the tapestry of his life. They'd shared times of both joy and sorrow; the end of civilization, and its rebirth. What had happened on the planet below had left him numb with shock; shock that had been swiftly followed by the fire of rage. As he'd looked down at that other Methos, dead on the floor after Triona's rescue, Duncan had wanted to do nothing more than to take his head. But he lived because it had been the only way to bring their Methos back. Still, it was hard to accept the injustice of it all. That he could commit such evil and not have to pay a price; it rankled at him.

He moved closer. LaCroix's profile was stark in the dim light, leaning over the bed as if on guard. Then the ancient Roman vampire turned, acknowledging the Highlander with a nod. "She sleeps," he said softly. "Finally." The sadness in his voice was palpable. The mental and physical bonds of the vampire's family were strong ones, but those ties brought shared pain as well as comfort.

"Has Methos been back?" Duncan asked. "I thought he'd be here." He was concerned about Methos. The oldest Immortal had said he needed some time alone, so Duncan had left him in the observation lounge, looking out at the stars. But there had been an icy sharpness to Methos' mood that had disquieted him. Even after nearly four centuries of friendship, Methos could be an enigma to Duncan, and he honestly didn't know how his friend was going to deal with what had happened.

LaCroix shook his head. "As did I. She sleeps now, but Methos should be here when she wakes."

"Computer, locate Benjamin Adams."

The ubiquitous female computer voice replied to Duncan's query. "Dr. Benjamin Adams is in conference room 10A."

"That's just down the corridor. I'll go get him," Duncan said.

* * *

What Duncan found, he hadn't expected, and that discovery filled him with grief for his friend, along with a determination that this needed to be stopped now. He knew Methos wanted to punish himself, but this was something that Duncan couldn't allow to happen.

A voice that was familiar, yet that of a stranger, filled the room, _What? No pleas for mercy? No begging me to spare you from a fate worse than death? I truly thought you'd be more entertaining. How very disappointing._ Methos' eyes were fixed on the monitor, the look on his face one that chilled Duncan to the bone.

"Stop it!" Duncan demanded, slamming his hand down on the control pad, shutting off the recording. "You can't think she'd want you to see that!"

Methos exploded out of the chair, furious. "It's none of your business!" he shouted.

"Isn't it? I disagree." The two men stood nearly nose to nose. "Damnit, I love both of you! And I'll do whatever's needed to protect you from yourself, Methos! I owe it to the both of you to do what I know Triona would want!"

"Leave!" he hissed.

Duncan took an involuntary step back at the look in Methos' eyes. It was fey, and bled of hope. Backing off, he let Methos start the recording again before tapping the communicator on his chest. "I need you here now," he said urgently but quietly.

Within moments, LaCroix arrived, instantly taking in the situation. "What in Hades are you about, Methos?" he roared.

"You of all people should understand!" Methos snarled in reply.

"No, I do not!" LaCroix pinned Methos with his gaze, the sheer weight of seven-thousand plus years between the two of them in a battle of wills. There were few beings Methos would yield to, the Roman vampire being one such.

"Are you telling me you didn't watch this?" he demanded. Methos wasn't backing down. If anything, he seemed more determined than ever.

Sighing, he shook his head, placing a hand on Methos' arm. "Only enough to gauge the situation before transporting to the planet to free her. But the knowledge was in his blood, as it will be in hers. Is that not enough?" LaCroix sounded tired and resigned.

Methos looked at him sharply. "You don't think I deserve to witness what she suffered? That I should just remain blissfully ignorant?" His voice was raw with grief and rage. "Shouldn't I have to pay some price for what happened?"

In the background, the recorded voice continued, _"Which brings us back to you. Tell me, just what are you willing to do to get him back, my lovely Triona?"_

"This is not about you, Methos!" LaCroix's voice was pitched low, but taut with emotion. "You and I both know you are not ignorant of what transpired. You need no recording to impart that knowledge."

_"Anything."_

"Computer, stop playback," LaCroix commanded. He leaned over Methos. "This is not about you," he repeated. "This is about her. How do you think Triona will feel seeing the knowledge of this--" he made a sharp motion at the monitor, "--in your eyes?"

Methos shook his head, shoulders slumping.

LaCroix pressed his advantage. "If you watch this, you allow him to violate her yet one more time. You _know_ that she would not want you to witness what happened."

"Think, Methos," Duncan told his friend softly. "He overrode all the security protocols on the ship, but left the security recorders running. What does that say to you?"

"What? Think like myself?" Methos asked acidly.

"Yes," Duncan replied harshly.

Taking a shuddering breath, Methos buried his face in his hands. "He knew I'd be compelled to watch, so that his memory would always be between us," he finally admitted, voice cracking. "He wanted to always be a part of what we are."

LaCroix and Duncan shared a relieved look.

"Do not give him that victory," LaCroix implored. "For Triona's sake, if not for yourself."

"I don't know how to make it right," Methos whispered dully. He laid his head down on crossed arms.

Resting a cool hand on his neck, LaCroix replied, "We will both make it right, I promise you."

"You aren't alone," Duncan reminded Methos, gathering his friend close as grief finally overtook him, shoulders shaking as he wept. "Never alone."


	17. Chapter 17

_I did it! The story is now complete! Thanks to everyone who has followed along over the last year. You have no idea what your comments have meant to me. And now those of you who told me you were waiting till it was done can read it!_

* * *

Triona looked at herself in the mirror of the cabin that was permanently set aside for her here on the _Scotia_, the flagship of the Imladrin Planetary Union. 'Like death warmed over' was the most charitable thing she could say for herself.

She'd released herself from sickbay, the doctor on duty no match for Triona in full 'haughty defense minister ' mode. It was nonsense, trying to keep her there when it was obvious the bulk of the drugs in her system were gone. For god's sake, she'd survived a brutal vampire attack when she'd still been mortal. What was this in comparison? Fussing. She hated fussing.

Picking up the dress on the chair next to her, Triona pulled the silky black material over her head. The heavy folds fell down to her ankles as she straightened the pronounced batwing collar across her shoulders. Staring into space, she smoothed the fabric over her ribs and down her thighs; not allowing herself to dwell on the fact that Methos hadn't come near her since he'd first left her in sickbay hours before. I It was what you knew would happen/I her little voice hissed.

But before she could dwell on that realization, there was that almost imperceptible shift in the air, and when she next looked into the mirror, LaCroix stood behind her, capturing her eyes in their reflections. He ran one finger down her throat, and she closed her eyes, shivering at the touch.

Then, whirling to face him, she tilted her chin defiantly. "I looked at my scans. I'm fine!" she declared, preempting whatever he might have said.

"Indeed?" Just that one word, but fraught with layers of meaning.

"I hate sickbay! And if Methos couldn't be bothered to check in on me, then I can't see any reason why I should stay!" Even to her own ears, Triona sounded like a petulant five-year-old. But she didn't care. And anyway, if LaCroix could put up with centuries of Nick pouting, he could deal with her this once.

Something of her thought must have reached him, because he smiled down at her indulgently. "Whatever pleases you, child," he said softly, stroking the back of her neck with a comforting hand.

Leaning into the touch, she fought back a wave of despair. Despite her words, Methos not being there had cut deep. It only confirmed her darkest fears, that what had happened at the hands of his mirror self would leave him unable to look at her without thinking of _him_.

"Methos fears for you." LaCroix's voice floated around her, once again reading her thoughts. "Give him a little time, _ma petite_. A little time to deal with everything that has happened; that he blames himself for."

Nodding silently, she reached up, skimming his face with cool fingertips. "I'm… I'll try," she finally said; her voice so quiet it could barely be heard.

LaCroix gently grasped her wrist, pressing her knuckles against his lips, and she trembled at the feel of his fangs against her flesh. Turning her hand, he drew her arm up, the razor points of his canines leaving a thin trail of blood along the delicate flesh of her inner wrist.

Triona fell against him with a shuddering breath as the ancient vampire licked away the droplets of blood as delicately as a hummingbird sipping nectar. It would be so easy to let him drink deeper, to throw her head back, the vulnerable line of her throat welcoming him to take her life's blood. But she wasn't ready for that intimacy yet. She couldn't bear for him to witness her shame, to see in her blood the degradation and pain; not yet, it was too soon.

His lips kissed away her tears, drawing her down to the sofa. "It is enough for now," he assured her softly.

"Soon, it will all go back to as it was," she told him. "We'll go home and everything will be all right." Triona looked up at him, her eyes begging him to agree.

LaCroix sighed, placing a hand against her cheek. "I wish I could tell you that would be so, my love. Haven't I always told you that part of being immortal means knowing when to move on? To leave one life behind and make a new one over the horizon. That time has come, finally, for you." He stopped her protest. "You know it is true, Triona. What has transpired here has only hastened that day. It has been approaching for some time, well you know."

Dropping her eyes, she shook her head in denial. "There's so much to do."

"And it will be done – but not by you," he replied firmly. "If you go back now, to this current life, it will almost certainly destroy what you hold most dear. I know you and Methos so well, _ma petite précieuse_. I know that you will use your duties and what is expected of you, as a barrier, and he'll let you out of guilt and concern. If you love Methos, if you love what you have together, you will walk away. Go with him and start a new life. Do this for me, child, if not for yourself."

Choking back tears, Triona buried her face in her hands. In her heart, she knew LaCroix was right. What had their trip to the artifact's planet been but an attempt to reconnect with Methos? Something that had meant so much to her that she had ignored every shred of common sense she'd ever had; that had led to everything that followed.

* * *

Methos sat in the observation lounge, staring at the dark expanse of space before him. Once MacLeod had been assured that he wouldn't do anything stupid, he'd left Methos alone here to gather his thoughts before facing his wife once more. He didn't even have a clear idea of how long he'd been here, lost in memories and regret. Absently he noted the sound of a door opening and closing, but paid it little mind. Then, someone was sitting next to him on the sofa. He would have ignored even that, but a small though strong hand gripped his arm.

"How is grandmother?" the level voice asked. To anyone but her family, T'Rayla's question would seem as emotionless as any Vulcan's would, but Methos could hear the concern.

"You still call her that," he observed, a slight smile quirking at his lips.

"There is a Vulcan term for our relationship, but I prefer 'grandmother'. So does she," the young Vulcan pointed out coolly.

He squeezed her hand. "I know." Then he answered. "Triona will be fine. The drugs will be out of her system soon." Methos knew that wasn't what she'd wanted to know, but he really didn't have an answer to her real question.

T'Rayla looked up at him with eyes older than her years. "My father once told me that humans can be extremely illogical when it comes to trying to protect those they love."

"Did he now?"

"Indeed. He said that in attempting to avoid emotionally damaging a loved one, that they inadvertently do exactly that."

"Your father told you that?" Methos asked wryly.

"Vulcan's do no lie… grandfather," she replied tartly.

Methos snorted. "Your grandmother has been a very bad influence on you."

"I like to think so."

This time, Methos laughed outright.

T'Rayla tucked one leg up underneath her, looking like the little girl Methos remembered. "When I was a child, I observed that grandmother would smile for no reason. I asked her what she was smiling at, and she told me that she was remembering something that made her happy. When I was older, I asked her what she was remembering."

"And what did she tell you?"

"Grandmother did not tell me, she showed me. She shared some of her memories with me through a mind meld," she answered softly. "That was when I knew I was a woman grown, and no longer a child in her eyes." T'Rayla placed two fingers across Methos' wrist. "I would share that memory with you, if you would allow it."

Her dark eyes seemed to capture his, and Methos nodded. He had only ever shared his thoughts, his essence, through his blood with Triona and LaCroix, but something about T'Rayla's mood seemed to ensnare him. "All right," he found himself agreeing.

Placing her fingertips against his temples, she looked deep into his eyes. "My mind to your mind," she whispered in Vulcan….

_She was in his arms, laughing so hard she could barely breath. "Don't you dare dump me in the fountain, Methos! I'll catch my death!"_

_"I promise I'll warm you up," he said with wicked amusement in his voice. He let his arms drop, and she clutched at his shoulders, screeching. Then he was swinging her around, putting her on her feet. "You didn't really think I'd drop you in the water, did you?" he asked, looking down at her._

In a corner of his mind, Methos realized he was seeing through Triona's eyes -- seeing himself through her eyes. It was the first week they'd known each other, just after he'd convinced LaCroix to let him stay on. The week he'd realized he might actually love her.

_"You're a dreadful man!" she exclaimed, breathless, looking up at him with shining eyes._

_"I am, I really am," he agreed, lips twitching._

_"And proud of it," she observed archly._

_"Absolutely!" he agreed, all innocence._

_"I think I'm going to regret this," she said, rolling her eyes._

_"Never in a million years," he protested._

_"Never, huh?"_

_He shook his head. "Cross my heart."_

_"I think I believe you," she said softly before reaching up and kissing him._

T'Rayla broke the meld. "She still believes that."

Methos nodded, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Thank you, granddaughter."

* * *

Strands of her beautiful hair lay all around her, and Methos' heart broke at the look of despair in her eyes as he entered their cabin. "Triona…" He couldn't finish. He should have come sooner. T'Rayla had been right.

She held the knife in her hand, halfway through cutting off another hank of her hair as he entered.

"What are you doing, love?" he asked, anguished.

"I don't want it touching me!" she said, her voice cracking. "Don't want him touching me," she whispered. She turned her head away, refusing to look at him. "I know that you see when you look at me."

"No! No, you don't." He sat next to her, gently removing the knife from her hand. "Do you remember what I told you long ago? That you wouldn't regret me in a million years?"

She looked up at him, startled at the memory. "Yes."

"Believe that, love, because it's still true." Carefully, gently, he cut away what remained of her hair, as tears poured unchecked down her face and his. When it was done, Methos gathered her in his arms, holding her close. "He doesn't have the power to come between us, not if we don't allow it."

Nodding against his chest, she whispered, "Will you take me home?"

"Of course—"

"Home to Earth," she clarified.

"Earth?"

'It's time. Time to start over, Methos; like we did when everything seemed new and full of promise so long ago." Finally, she looked into his eyes. "Will you go with me?"

He drew his thumb across her lips. "I will go anywhere you want to, my love. To Earth, or the ends of the universe."

"And you'll still love me?"

Methos drew her onto his lap, holding her tight. "For a million years, love, for a million years."

Finis

* * *

Coming soon, the sequel, _All We Ever Find_ (well, soon relatively speaking!)


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